Harry Potter and the Black Doorway
by Ridureyu
Summary: 19 years after Voldemort's defeat, life has continued in Hogwarts. A new student arrives, and her magical mishaps gain attention. But is there more to her than meets the eye? What connection does she have with events that happened in Durmstrang long ago?
1. Prologue: The Empty House

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hogwarts, and all associated names, places, and events existing in the _Harry Potter_ book series are owned by J. K. Rowling and affiliates.

AUTHOR'S NOTE (And possibly the only Author's Note): The following piece of fanfiction you see below is being written for the Harry Potter Not-Sue Challenge (I'm not sure if I'm allowed to link to it, but you can find it on Livejournal), and yes, I do understand the apparent sue-ish qualities inherent in it. The point of the challenge is to "write with a handicap," i.e., "Can you produce a good story using an original character with the following sue-bits?" I won't lie, it's been a lot of fun, and I do hope that it's good.

I'm sorry for any delays and general lateness, but I am juggling grad school, an editing job, a meager social life, and a few hobbies besides Harry Potter fanfiction. The story is set in the Epilogue era, and I have tried to research and do my homework - when JKR says something, I will attempt to include it (Although there are a few details currently present which, if she were to contradict, I couldn't exactly change. I guess I'm not any more perfect than the rest of you).

I've also tried to mirror much of the structure and "feel" of the books themselves. To what degree I succeeded or failed remains to be seen, but it's still a lot of fun working and practicing on this. I hope you can get a kick out of it, too! Amusingly, this has made it hard to categorize the story - what genre are the books really in, after all? The character listing is not a pairing, it's simply a way to state that A: this is set in Epilogue-land, where everything is happy and the streets are made of chocolate blah, blah, blah, and B: the main character is an OC. That last bit is part of the challenge rules, of course. I promise that Harry himself will eventually make an appearance, but it might take a while, depending on plot.

Thanks, and enjoy (And review, please, of course)!

* * *

**Prologue: The Empty House**

The small German house sat alone in a small German town. As the sun steadily set, bathing the town in orange, lights began to flicker in different windows. The streets emptied, and in time the house at the end of the row was surrounded by silence. In the fading light, a man approached, stepping up to the door. He was tall, his light hair beginning to turn ashy with gray. He took his hand and knocked three times against the door. Some time passed without an answer, and the man knocked again, more loudly this time. He grunted in minor annoyance, lowering his hand to his side. The sound of two others apparating cracked behind him, and he waited for them to approach before acknowledging them.

"Richard, she hasn't answered yet?" came a high-pitched, gravelly voice belonging to an older man.

"No, and I am beginning to doubt that she will." Richard turned his attention to the others. "A strange development." He reached behind himself, knocking a third time. The sounds echoed through the air,but were met with silence.

"Possibly," the third, youngest man shook his head. "It could be that she has left the house on an errand of some sort."

Richard shook his head. "Leo, a woman who has recently given birth does not 'leave the house.' She is still recovering from the massive shock and strain of shoving a human being out of her body. Shall we give her a few more minutes to compose herself? A precious couple of seconds to overcome the strain?"

"She had the child several days ago, but even a witch like her should still feel it." the old man nodded, his hands disappearing into the sleeves of his robe. "My wife could attest to that. When she had Ada she could've sworn she was going to die."

"And that was in England, in Mungo's." The first man turned back, toward the door again. "For Violet, I fear this was more of a private affair."

"Far more private," The older one nodded. "But not to us, not now. The fact is, she still has not answered, and thus," He took two steps forward producing a small, thin wand. The man tapped it once against the doorknob, casting an unlocking charm. The door, however, refused to open.

"Always intelligent enough to block the door; I appreciate that," Richard said, a mild gleam in his eye. "Allow me, Graham." He stepped past Graham Jones and drew his own wand, lightly pointing it over the door itself. A small, dark trickle flowed like mist from his wand, forming into a lizardlike shape. The shadowy creature moved, clambering down the door and slipping underneath it into the house itself. After a few seconds, the latch unlocked with a click, and Richard opened the door. The three wizards strode inside.

The house was empty, bare even of furniture. Leo quickly outpaced the others, moving further into the sitting room.

"She's gone – The dust hasn't even settled in here," he said, looking around the empty building. "It seems she got over her shock and strain very quickly, didn't she?"

"Or she had assistance." Graham said, now joining Leo. Richard remained where he stood, on the threshold. "This makes very little sense. Nothing – Nothing at all. No sign of baby or mother or anybody else. She had help – there's no way around it, she had to have help."

"But why?" Leo asked, raking a hand through his light-blonde hair. "Why would she do this, and who could she find to help her?"

Ignoring them both, Richard moved in, striding with a direct, purposeful gait into the hall past both of his companions. Nails driven into the wall were all that remained of paintings or photographs. Unlike the front door, the bedroom was not locked, and Richard entered.

"To be repaid," he said to himself, taking a single step inside. Even the bed was gone. "To be repaid like this. Like this!" His tone rose, and he swept his hand over the room. He turned now, quickly enough that his coat fluttered around him. "So she ran from me – after what I have given her, have done for her, Violet ran like a miserable, filthy, pathetic, wormtailed rat!" He moved to the door, pausing to look inside the empty bedroom again. "ungrateful, unappreciative, self-centered and foolish."

There was a small chittering sound by his feet, and Richard looked down. The shadowy creature was there, looking up at him. Its luminous blue eyes flickered curiously, and it seemed to be awaiting instruction. He regarded it for a brief moment, his hand stroking his beard.

"I want you to find them," he instructed the shadow. "Woman and child, find them both. If it takes you fifty years, find them. If you have to scour the entire world, find them. I will not be left like this, standing in the dirt like a fool. I refuse to acknowledge this insult."

The creature seemed to nod, and then was gone, dashing into a dark corner of the room. The blue pinpoints of light peered out from the shadows for another moment before blinking and disappearing. It had left to do its work. Richard's expression became less enraged, although no less determined. Drawing his coat around his shoulders, he thought to himself about the situation. Violet was intelligent – enough to escape from under his nose in spite of her condition. She was likely to have used enough forethought to ward herself against traditional detection. The locked door was evidence enough of this. It may take more than a single shadowy scout to find her. Not that it mattered, as no challenge was truly undefeatable. At the worst, he thought, this would simply take a little time, and then things would return to the way they should be. Richard Theos rejoined the others, still sullen at the insult, but now more positive. This was a minor setback, and in the long run would not truly get in the way.

It was seventeen years before his search bore any fruit.


	2. Chapter 1: Train Station

**Chapter 1: Train Station**

Professor Horace Slughorn, former head of Slytherin and current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat behind his desk, settling his walruslike bulk into his favorite chair. Joining the headmaster were Filius Flitwick, the rather small man who taught charms and was head of Ravenclaw, Neville Longbottom, the Herbology teacher, war hero, and head of Gryffindor, and Mathilda Merrythought, Potions professor and head of Hufflepuff. There was no representative for Slytherin in attendance.

"To another fine year at Hogwarts!" Slughorn declared, popping open a bottle of wine. "To good students, good lessons, and good friends! Personally, I rather enjoy this time of year. We have a good returning crop of students, I'd say."

"Agreed, but what about the new ones?" Neville Longbottom asked, offering his empty glass to Slughorn. He also slid Flitwick's closer to the headmaster.

"Well, there aren't any 'Boys who Lived,' if that's what you're worried about," Slughorn joked, filling both glasses. "We're finally running short of transfer students. We've only got two candidates this year, and there was actually room for them!"

"Hogwarts is such a wonderful school, and I'm glad people want to come here," Merrythought took her own glass of wine, subtley filching a piece of crystallized pineapple from the jar on Slughorn's desk. "But if y ou start in a school, you should finish it! It's far too much trouble to make these poor children forget everything they've learned from Beauxbatons, or wherever." Since The Dark Lord Voldemort's defeat at the hands of Harry Potter, Hogwarts School had gained a sort of celebrity status. In the last nineteen years, there had been more requests for transfers into Hogwarts than in the previous century. "Who are the new students, if I may ask?"

"Two girls." Slughorn answered, filling his own glass to the brim. "One from Beauxbatons. She's been trying to get in here since she was eleven, poor thing. Parents were really impressed by what happened to old You-Know-Who, and they kept playing me with letters, gifts, attempts to visit, that whole thing. They even threatened to move here to try to force our hand!" He said this with a bit of a chuckle, corking the bottle again. "Miss Serenity Starsdawn. Strange name if I ever saw one."

"She'll fit in with a few of them," Longbottom said. "How old is she, and what is her record?"

"She's a fine student, and this will be her last year. I believe she turned seventeen in May. Of course, her parents talk her up, but we'll see how she does, won't we?"

"We will," Flitwick answered, taking a sip. "Sounds nice, anyway. Who is the other student?"

"A transfer from Salem." An audible groaning sound filled the room when Slughorn said this. He looked over his shoulder to see that, in several portraits of previous Hogwarts headmasters, the subjects were looking away from him.

"Oh, give it a break! It's not that bad." Merrythought protested, glaring at the portraits. "America just needs more time to bloom, and it'll have an excellent Wizarding community. What's her hame, Horace?"

"Sypha Veranades," the headmaster answered, pointedly ignoring the portraits. "She lives with her Aunt, who moved here in June. The aunt's from Durmstrang, but raised her niece in the States. The girl's record is spotty, very spotty – excellent book work, irregular marks in actual magic. She even had to repeat her first year, and there was talk of her being a Squib. Supposedly her magic doesn't always work the way it's supposed to."

"I can understand that," Neville commented, "My first few years here were anything but stellar. Perhaps if she's in Hogwarts, I can help her. Better if she's in Gryffindor. What year is she?"

"She's seventeen, but it's her sixth year." Slughorn refilled his glass. "Imagine that! You're an adult, and you still haven't gotten your O.W.L.s back!"

"Do they even have O.W.L.s in America?" Merrythought asked.

"No, but she took them here before she sent her transfer request," Slughorn answered. "That impressed me. Initiative like that is a good thing – it makes up for other deficiencies. Either way, we'll see what happens."

"What about the new teachers?" Mathilda Merrythought interjected. "I love your surprise for Defense Against Dark Arts – the students will love it. Are you sure she can do this while keeping her other job?"

"Of course, of course!" Slughorn set his empty glass down, helping himself to some pineapple. "She said so herself – and it's only for this year. Even without the curse, we go through a lot of Defense teachers, don't we?"

"Too many," Neville agreed. Although the curse over the position broke when Voldemort died, Defense teacher was a difficult position to fill. The previous teacher, recently retired, had lasted for seven years. "And Transfiguration, too. Can you believe it?"

"Professor Ovid said he wanted to retire while he remembered his real shape, that's right." Slughorn laughed again. "Well, I've found someone to fill his position, and to fill in as Head of Slytherin, at least for now. How is that?"

"Professor Eytinge has good credentials," Flitwick said. "But are you certain about putting him in charge of the house? He didn't even graduate from Hogwarts."

"Durmstrang, yes. Leo Eytinge and I go back, and I think he'd be a good addition to the school. Nobody else who applied could take Slytherin. Isn't that a pity? I'd do it, but I have the whole school to look out for, you know. He should be here tomorrow, and then you'll all have a good look at him."

The others nodded, and the informal meeting continued. Finally, Neville Longbottom asked, "Will you be continuing the Slug Club, sir?"

"Of course!" Slughorn bellowed. "The Club's done very well before, even after I took this position. You'll note I don't influence my students' grades, and they still get in trouble if they break the rules. I think it's a good way to meet students and for students to meet each other."

"I think it causes some elitism," Neville responded, looking down into his drink.

"Nonsense! Complete and utter nonsense! If someone has a bad attitude because of the Club, wouldn't they just do it in Quidditch, or with their studies, or their bloodline?"

There was no outright agreement, but some sounds of basic assent. Horace Slughorn smiled, and changed the subject. "I hear we're getting another one of Potter's kids this year."

"Little Albus. He's a darling," Neville responded. "Looks like his dad, too. I look forward to seeing him with his brother in Gryffindor."

"We all do," Flitwick said with a smile. "Such a delightful family, even if James acts a little too much like his namesake."

"I think it's good for the school," Merrythought said, another piece of pineapple having found its way into her hands. "And not just publicity, but I think they will set a good example for the school."

"There's nothing like teaching your students' children, you know." Slughorn interrupted. "Nothing like it at all. Harry was an excellent Potions student, just like his mother – James is no slouch, and I suspect little Albus will follow." He smiled then, and lifted his glass.

"To Hogwarts, and to the new schoolyear!"

* * *

In the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was an enchanted quill. This quill was active throughout the year, recording the names and locations of future students of the school. When the time came each year to invite new students to the school, the list is checked, and letters were sent to each eligible youth. In this way, every student would have ample time to be prepared before the start of the new term each September. One exception to this would be Sypha Veranades, who was in full panic, trying to stuff books, robes, and other assorted supplies into a trunk.

"Am I forgetting anything?" Sypha asked herself, pressing her hand against her forehead. "Books!" she shouted, quickly scuttling off to find her textbooks.

"Don't forget your cat this time!" a voice shouted from down the hall.

"I won't!" She called back, taking _Advanced Potion Making, Guide to Advanced Transfiguration,_ and_ Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_ from her shelf, stuffing them into a separate bag. "Aunt Violet, where's my _Confronting the Faceless?_"

"It's in the bathroom," Aunt Violet answered from across the small house. "I told you to get your books ready yesterday!"

Quickly stowing the books in her luggage, Sypha turned and ran down the hallway. A small grey shape dashed between her feet and tripped her. She hit the floor, and _Confronting the Faceless_ hit her head.

"Solomon!" The short girl yelled, scrambling to her feet and taking the book again. "Bad!" She added, giving a baleful look over her shoulder as she walked back through the hall again. Solomon, a fat gray tabby, gave her a victorious look and then proceeded to lick himself.

"Now for the tough part," Sypha muttered to herself, kneeling down to stuff her last book into the bag and fit them all in her trunk. It wouldn't close. She picked up a small kennel cage, hearing a rattle inside – the cat treats and toys were still in there, undisturbed. Smiling, Sypha walks back into the hall.

"Solomon," she said, adding extra sweetness to her voice. "I have a treat for you." Solomon was still where she had left him. His self-bathing stopped and he looked up, keenly peering at the plastic prison his owner held in front of him.

"Just go inside, Solomon," Sypha set the kennel down carefully, about to reach for her cat. Solomon took a break for it, beginning to run past her when she caught him in both arms. The cat yowled.

"Gotcha!" She smiled and knelt, bringing Solomon to the kennel's open door. He spread his furry limbs, bracing himself against each side of the door with a paw, holding on for dear life.

"Get… in… there!" She shouted, trying to push the cat inside. Solomon held fast, hissing at her. She put her shoulder into it, and just as his grip seemed to be slipping, Solomon let go of the door and lunged in Sypha's hands, paws wrapping around her face. She fell back with a startled squeal, making loud muffled sounds as she tried to pry him loose. When she pulled him off her face, Solomon's claws came out and he latched to the sleeve of her new Hogwarts robes.

"Stop that! Bad!" Sypha protested, trying to guide the cat into his kennel again. He latched onto her arm with an iron grip. "Come on, I'm almost late as it is!" Solomon wouldn't budge. Finally, she gave a harsh sigh and quickly peeled off her outer robe, trapping the cat in the fabric. Solomon howled and thrashed, but Sypha stuffed him and the robe the kennel and shut the door before he had a chance to scramble free. Then she realized what she had just done. Opening the door would allow a jailbreak, and the struggle would continue again. To keep the kennel closed, however – with part of her new school uniform inside – could definitely be worse.

"Solomon?" she said after a moment's hesitation. The cat looked at her with baleful eyes, as if daring her to try, just try to take her clothing back from him. "Just… just don't shred it, okay? Please?" Solomon padded back, kneading her robe and arranging it on the floor of the kennel. He laid down, resigned to his new term of imprisonment, yet still triumphant.

"Please?" Sypha asked her cat one more time before she turned around, back to her luggage. She tied her mousey blonde hair behind her head, wincing a little where Solomon had clawed her scalp. She tried to close her trunk again, sighing when it popped open. It was that book – _Confronting the Faceless,_ which refused to stop giving her trouble today. She pressed one more time, struggling as the latch just missed catching.

Sypha took her wand and opened the trunk, pointing it at her textbook before quickly saying, "Reducio!" The book began to shrink, finally allowing her to shut her trunk and finish packing. She smiled, inwardly pleased at the spell's success. Perhaps moving was a good thing, after all.

"I know you're seventeen, but you still shouldn't perform magic outside of school." Sypha jumped and turned, seeing her Aunt Violet. Violet Veranades looked down to her niece, and offered a thin smile. "Are you quite ready to go, now?" She asked Sypha. "We can't be late, can we?"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Violet." Sypha looked to her shoes. "I'm packed, yes."

"That's a strange way to treat your uniform." Violet picked up the kennel, letting Sypha take the rest of her luggage.

"I'll get it out in the train. Can we go now?"

They had lived in the East Meon house for three months now. Before then was Salem, Massachusetts, and before that, Boston. Sypha even vaguely remembered living in Florida at one point in her life. It seemed Aunt Violet had the restlessness bug. A cold, quiet person by nature, Violet Veranades was not exactly a "warm" caregiver, although her niece had little to complain about in life. A natural teacher, Violet demonstrated her belief that education begins in the home by drilling behavior and ethics into Sypha's head. This was how she expressed love. Sypha understood this, and the two of them got along fairly well.

They stood just inside King's Cross, in the building that housed Platforms 9 and 10. The hustle and bustle of human traffic, mostly muggle, ran around them. Sypha stood, her luggage in a cart, keeping one hand free to carry the caged cat.

"Remember." Violet stated, "The platform is between Nine and Ten. To enter it, run into the wall. Do you understand this?"

"I understand, Aunt Violet," Sypha answered, nodded, and in a fit of impulsiveness hugged her. Violet blinked once in surprise, but gently encircled her arms around her diminutive niece's shoulders. "you're doing so much for me," she said, hugging her aunt tightly. "Thank you so much, Aunt Violet! I promise I'll take care of myself!"

"You are my niece," she answered, and gently pushed Sypha back toward her luggage. "Now go."

Sypha stepped back, took her cat in one hand, and then started pushing the luggage cart away. Her speed steadily began to pick up as she neared the wall between platforms. For a brief moment, she thought about how ironic it would be if she picked the wrong platform, and smashed herself against the wall. However, she could see in front of her somebody else in front of her, running through and heading into Platform 9¾. "Goodbye!" Sypha shouted, and was gone.


	3. Chapter 2: Hogwarts Express

**Chapter 2: ****Hogwarts Express**

Pushing her luggage cart down the corridor of the train, Sypha began to look for an empty compartment. She was not actively staying away from company, and in fact was really unconscious of her own loneliness. She had some friends at Salem, not enough to be formally called a group. Aside from having to repeat her first year, circumstances were such that she was kept at a social distance from many of the other students. The few friends Sypha had were dear, but she moved enough that she really never saw them outside of classes. She had Aunt Violet and Solomon, and felt she had nothing to complain about. Also, Violet was a private woman, and since moving to United Kingdom, had not gone out of her way to meet many people. Sypha knew kindness, and often showed it to others (thanks largely to her aunt's teaching), but close, meaningful friendship? It was a need she was not consciously aware of, and yet her heart secretly cried out for it just the same.

And so it was that when offered the chance for acceptance and friendship, she took it almost instantly.

"Hey! New girl!" Someone shouted from one of the train compartments. "There's room in here! Come on in!"

Sypha turned, looking into the compartment to her right. Seated there were three children, two boys and a girl. They looked like they might have been related. It was the oldest one who spoke, a tall boy of about thirteen. His red hair was disheveled, almost the same shade as the girl's, although he more closely resembled the younger boy seated across from him.

"That's right, you have that new look all about you. You'd be amazed how it shows!" The boy continued before Sypha could say anything. "Those wide, confused eyes, that lost, Inferi-like shamble, that-" he suddenly cried out, as the girl had reached over to elbow him hard in the ribs.

"Rose, you didn't have to do that!" He protested. Rose sat up, pointedly looking way from him.

"James, that's no way to treat a fellow student, and you know it," Rose said. "Try to be civilized, for once."

James grumbled and stood, extending his hand to Sypha. "Don't mind Rose, everyone's got a cousin like her. I'm James – James Potter, and that's my brother, Al," he waved toward the younger boy. "And that's Rose Weasley, my cousin. Would you like to join us on the train?"

Sypha blinked twice, caught by surprise. She took James's hand and shook it once. "Sure, if there's room for me. Isn't it a little crowded in there?"

"Nonsense! There's room for all four of us, and our luggage! Come on in!" Without another word he ushered Sypha inside. "Al and Rose are just starting Hogwarts, but this is my third year here. What about you?"

"I transferred," she said, pushing her luggage cart into the compartment. She sat next to Al, bringing the cat carrier down to the floor by her feet.

"Hi, I'm Albus," he said, looking up at her. Albus was rather small and skinny for his age, and his dark hair was somewhat less unruly than his brother's. His eyes, hidden behind glasses, were bright green. Something about his appearance reminded Sypha of someone, although she couldn't place whom. Albus extended his hand to her, and she shook it.

"Pleased to meet you, Albus," Sypha smiled, and looked to the others. "My name's Sypha. Sypha Veranades. It's good to meet all three of you."

"What is your cat doing to your school robes?" James was by this time crouching over the kennel cage. Sypha blushed slightly, and stumbled over her words.

"He… ah, he kind of… it's a long story." She tried to cover her embarrassment quite unconvincingly with a quiet giggle, and got off her seat, kneeling on the floor. "That's Solomon," she said, opening the door. Solomon, who by now had arranged the school uniform into a perfectly comfy bed, opened one eye to glare at her.

"Come on, Solomon," Sypha smiled and reached for her school robe. Solomon, not in the mood for another fight, merely rolled over, letting her take it away. She left the kennel door open, as there was now really no reason to keep him confined. After standing, she fluffed out the robe, looking at it. It was covered in cat fur, and Solomon's claw marks on the sleeve were quite clearly visible. James laughed.

"You know, I don't think I even want to know!" he chuckled. Rose gave him another look of displeasure, and then tried to change the subject.

"Sypha, telling from your accent, you sound like you're from Salem. May I ask what year you'll be in Hogwarts?"

Sypha smiled, pulling the robe over her clothes. She started to pick fur off the sleeves. "I think I'm in sixth year… I think." She thought of telling her age, but decided against it.

"Sixth year?" James asked, looking up from the cat. "You can't be sixth year; I'm taller than you!" This earned him another whack from Rose.

"It's okay, I get that a lot," Sypha said, plucking a tuft of cat fur from her shoulder. She sat again, and Solomon left his kennel to hop up on her lap. Albus reached over to pet the cat, and he purred at the attention.

"What house do you think you'll be in?" Rose asked, smiling.

"House?" Sypha asked. She was familiar with a few things about Hogwarts's house system, but preferred to hear it from actual students or staff.

"The student body is divided into four houses," Rose said. "Based on personality traits, although I think personal preference can help determine in close cases. I know my mother was nearly a Ravenclaw, but she requested and became a Gryffindor."

Sypha nodded, asking, "Please back up a little. What are the houses?"

"The houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin," she continued. "Named for the four founders, and based on their preferences in students. Gryffindor accepts the loyal, brave, and chivalrous."

"And it's the best house!" James piped in.

"Ravenclaw is for those students who are particularly clever or intelligent," Rose continued, ignoring James for now. "Hufflepuff is the most inclusive house. Hufflepuff students generally value hard work, friendship, and patience, but really it's an appropriate house for students who don't particularly fit into any of the other three."

"The brainless ones!" interrupted James. Rose glared at him, but continued.

"Slytherin is for the most ambitious, resourceful, crafty students. It's also skewed somewhat towards pure-bloods, but that doesn't apply to all the students there."

"Slytherin's where dark wizards come from," James said, his voice sounding a bit more sober. "Most of them, anyway. I'm glad to be in Gryffindor – Dad was there, uncle and aunt were there, and I know these two will be." He gestured to the two younger children.

"Dad joked that he'd disown me if I didn't make it into Gryffindor," Rose smiled. "But I think he'd be fine with Ravenclaw, too."

"I really want to be in Gryffindor," Albus said, a hesitant smile crossing his lips. "I know dad said to me that the bravest man he knew was in Slytherin, but I still don't want to be there. They're all mean, and so many bad guys came out of it!"

"Professor Slughorn's not so bad," Rose interrupted. "He's blustery, but he means well."

"You can bribe him with candy," James laughed again. "I'm sure he'll invite you two into the Slug Club like me."

"I still don't want to be a Slytherin," Albus offered weakly.

"Don't worry," Sypha said, smiling down to him. She slipped an arm under Solomon, lifting the cat to move him onto Albus's lap. Solomon happily snuggled onto the new person, soaking up affection like a sponge. "I'm sure you'll end up where you want to be." She smiled again, thinking that Gryffindor wouldn't be a bad place to stay.

"So, it's the red and gold for all of us, then. Gryffindor!" James smiled, cheering out that last part. The compartment door suddenly opened, and another student answered James's call.

"Naw, it's HUFFLEPUFF!" the new student shouted, letting out a loud cheer. He was tall, most definitely built like an athlete. His short hair was bright blue, for some odd, unknowable reason. "Hey, James, new students! Welcome to Hogwarts! Another year – YEAH!" he yelled, and then moved on. Telling from the sounds, he continued to greet the other students in a similar fashion. Sypha stared at the empty doorway, goggle-eyed.

"That's Louie," James explained. "Louie Lane. He's a Hufflepuff, plays Quidditch – probably the best Beater their team's had in years. I think he's sixth year. Nice guy, but definitely needs a little help in the brains department."

"Why is his hair blue?" Sypha asked, and James shrugged.

"I think it's a transfiguration spell gone wrong. I guess nobody's been able to fix it yet."

Sypha nodded, and chuckled a little. She hadn't even arrived at Hogwarts yet, and already she was starting to like the school very much. Rose stood up to close the door when another voice called through the corridor.

"Stop making so much noise!" a girl shouted, a mild French accent influencing her words. "We had none of these problems in Beauxbatons! None of them at all! In the carriage, students behave properly, unlike this train and these… these hooligans!" A girl marched past, clad in blue silk robes. She stopped, wheeled around, and pointed down the corridor. "And you! I demand that you stop bothering me this very instant!" She stormed away, saying other things along the same vein.

"We've got transfer students coming out our ears," James joked quietly. "We'll have to bar the gates. Dump boiling oil on them."

Shortly after the girl left, two more students walked into line of sight from the compartment. Both blonde and sharp-featured, the older one seemed to be about Louie or Sypha's age while the younger boy was the same as Albus or Rose.

"Snobs, I swear," the older student said, flicking his long hair back in what could only be interpreted as a snobbish gesture. "You see, Scorpius, Miss Serenity has illustrated exactly what's wrong with Beauxbatons. Their heads are bigger than the entire castle, but when have they produced any wizards who actually mean something? Compare it to Hogwarts."

"There needs to be a Ministry of Things That Are Not Surprising," James muttered. "Alexander Dioti is friends with the Malfoys."

Dioti turned, looking at the four inside the train compartment. His eyes narrowed slightly, whether he had heard them or not. Offering a curt nod, he said, "Welcome back, Potter. Greetings, Weasley. Scorpius?"

"Yes, Alex?" Scorpius Malfoy gave a dismissive look to the four in the car.

"Slughorn's in the head car. I'm sure we can find decent company up there." He took Scorpius's hand and immediately began to lead him away from James, Rose, Albus, and Sypha.

"I hope you…" James seemed at a loss for an insult. "Hope you choke on that House Cup! From last year. Right." He visibly wilted. Rose took her opportunity to laugh at his expense.

"He's no Death Eater," James grumbled. "But he's a prat. I'm sure they both are. He knows Scorpius will be a Slytherin, and he's grooming him for it already!"

"As if we haven't done that with our family and Gryffindor," Rose admitted, looking to Albus and giving him a reassuring smile. "Do you see, Al? You'll be all right. You're not Slytherin material."

"Nope!" Albus was smiling now. "In fact, I'm going to be just like my dad!"

Sypha thought for a moment, looking to Albus again. Taking their names into account again, and looking a little harder at Al, it finally occurred to her.

"Potter… do you mean Harry Potter?"

James laughed at her.

"Of course! Who else would we be related to? Rubeus Hagrid?"

Sypha laughed as well, shaking her head – it was a good way to hide her sudden embarrassment at not recognizing them.

"Rose Weasley, daughter of Ronald and Hermione Weasley," Rose said, smiling. "These other two are Harry and Aunt Ginny's kids. I've got one younger brother, and they have another sister."

"It's very nice to meet you all," Sypha answered, sheepishness creeping into her voice.

Perhaps sensing this, James interjected, "We're still just normal people, Miss Vee..." he paused. "Uh, Veeranaties?"

Sypha chuckled, some embarrassment leaving her. "Veh-rah-nah-dees. People have trouble with it sometimes, I know. And thank you very much for the greeting!"

Deep within her heart, Sypha needed friendship. Within minutes of boarding the Hogwarts Express, she had begun to find it. She felt warmth coming from the three children that surpassed anything she knew from her casual friends in Salem, and now felt at home. Acceptance, compassion filled her, and she was happy.

And yet, deep within, something else lurked. Small, subtle, unknown even to her. It recoiled at the presence of others, burying itself deep inside the girl's soul. Far away from the train and the school, a great evil stirred, and a tiny creature of shadow reported to its master.


	4. Chapter 3: Sorting

**Chapter 3: Sorting**

"Firs' years! Firs' years, follow me!"

This caused Sypha a minor bit of confusion. Was the gigantic hairy man calling the first-year students over for some Hogwarts-specific initiation, or was it about wizarding school in general? Did it apply to her? This was Sypha's first year at Hogwarts, but she could hardly be considered a "first year" in the schooling system – she had been a legal adult for a few months, after all. Should she follow the large man, or board the carriages with other older students? Sypha made her decision when she saw Serenity, the Beauxbatons student, moving toward the carriages. Sypha took one step in that direction before she felt someone grab her hand and pull her back.

"This way, Sypha," said Albus, leading her back toward the boats and the lantern-bearing behemoth. "You haven't met Hagrid yet!"

Albus tugged Sypha along, and it was all she could do to avoid losing her balance, much less stumbling into the large man. She barely made it up to his waist. Sypha looked up at his remarkably hairy face, and the giant smiled.

"Yer lookin' a bit old to be with the first years, aren't ya?" Hagrid asked Sypha, and then saw Albus. "There y'are, Albus! C'mon, follow with all the rest. This is one o' yer new friends?" In his rush to greet the youngest Potter child, Hagrid nearly trampled Sypha, who staggered out of the way as quickly as she should. She nearly knocked over a few other students, but soon felt a pair of firm hands on her shoulders.

"If you follow this way with the others," Serenity whispered harshly. Evidently, she had been sent to the boats as well. "The insanity will end sooner. Now stop stumbling around, and just board one of the boats!"

Sypha murmured a word of thanks, letting the Beauxbatons transfer prod her to the edge of the lake. She stepped into one of the small Hogwarts boats and sighed, glancing around to the others. Hagrid, Albus, and Rose were all in a boat at the lead, and Sypha shared her space with Serenity and two eleven-year-olds. The boats began to float across the lake, and she could not help but look up, marveling at the approaching castle. It was beautiful, enormous – much different than the spread-out campus at Salem! The boats passed into the cliff face under a low-hanging ivy curtain, and she had to duck her head to avoid touching the greenery. The boats docked at a small underground harbor, and chatter began to resume among the students as they disembarked.

"Come on!" Hagrid began to usher the children, keeping them together as they walked toward the castle. "The Sortin' ceremony's about ta start, and we can't have it without all of yer!" Sypha began to revise her opinion of the man – he certainly looked monstrous, but the way he was handling those students was positively gentle, and from the way he spoke he sounded as if he knew most of the student families. He probably had taught their parents.

The castle door opened, revealing Hogwarts's massive entrance hall. An extremely short old man – made even smaller by his proximity to Hagrid – stood there.

"I'll take it from here, Hagrid!" he squeaked, looking at the new students.

"Take good care of 'em, Professor Flitwick," Hagrid said to him, and stepped aside.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, all of you!" Flitwick said, and bowed once to them all before leading them into the castle, explaining what they were about to do.

"The great start of term banquet is about to begin, but first we've got one more thing for all of you," he announced. "You will be sorted into your houses. Students, your house is your family – you will be in the same dormitories, you will study in the same classes, and you will even have your own common room."

He led them into a small empty chamber next to where the banquet would be held. "Although I am the head of Ravenclaw," the tiny professor explained, "I want to tell you all that each house is special, and each house has produced great witches and wizards. The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. During the year your actions will reflect on your whole house – please be a credit to your fellow students while you study here! It'll all begin in a few moments, so please wait patiently." The professor bowed again, and left the new students alone in the small room.

Sypha took the opportunity to look around, finding Rose and Albus. She moved over to them quickly, offering a smile. "This is what you told me about, right?" she asked. "How do they sort you?"

"With magic," Rose joked, grinning. Sypha noticed, however, that Albus was not smiling. She thought she had an idea why.

"Don't worry, Albus," she told the younger boy, offering him a warm smile. "I'm sure you won't end up anywhere you don't want." She paused, and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Especially Slytherin."

"Thanks," he said, forcing a rather disingenuous smile. "There's no need to be nervous, is there? I bet we'll be sorted into dad's old house so fast that the hat won't even touch our heads!"

"Hat?" Sypha asked, and Rose coughed very loudly.

"Stop spoiling it for the new people," she nudged her cousin.

Professor Flitwick returned, grinning. "Form a line, all of you!" he told the students, "And follow me."

Sypha stepped behind Albus and Rose, but quickly found herself ushered to the front by Flitwick.

"Transfer students first – there, keep them alphabetical, now. You're – um, you're miss Veranades, correct? Stand here behind Starsdawn – good! Just like that! Now, this way."

Sypha had been impressed by her view of the castle from the lake, but nothing had prepared her for the Great Hall. A vast, vaulted chamber, the hall was lit by literally thousands of candles floating in the air at different heights, enough to illuminate the room as though it were daylight. The ceiling was black, twinkling with starlight - a flawless reflection of the night sky outside. A stained glass-window at the end of the Great Hall reached nearly to the ceiling, perfectly framing the long table where the teachers sat.

Professor Flitwick led the new students up toward the staff table, motioning for them to stand facing the rest of the hall. There were four tables, filled with excited, cheering students – one for each house. Four ghosts floated above each table, occasionally passing a word or two among the people there. Professor Flitwick set a stool down in front of the first years, and placed an old, tattered hat on top of it. The hat was frayed, patched, torn, dirty, and looked burned in more than one spot. The room fell silent, and Sypha found herself wondering just how that hat was supposed to help sort the new students. And then a tear near the brim of the hat opened like a mouth, and it began to sing:

_Oh, another year is here,_

_With students young and old!_

_They all want to be sorte__d_

_The cowards and the bold!_

_I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,_

_And I'm the best__, you'll agree!_

_A hundred hats you could find,_

_And none of 'em like me!_

_So put me on all your heads!_

_Come on up and see!_

_I'll know where to place you, _

_Just where you need to be._

_Maybe you're in Gryffindor,_

_With__ colors__ of__ red and gold._

_Good old Godric formed this house,_

_For brave ones and the bold!_

_Perhaps you'll be in Slytherin,_

_Old Salazar would know._

_Craftier, and with ambition,_

_With your own kin you'll grow!_

_Or maybe it's in Ravenclaw,_

_Where you'll truly fit,_

_Rowena always wanted most,_

_The smart and sharp of wit!_

_Or what about dear Hufflepuff,_

_For loyal ones and__ kind?_

_Helga knew we dearly needed,_

_More of that frame of mind!_

_So come on up and put me on,_

_Don't worry and don't fret!_

_I guarantee __you're in good hands_

_T__he best you'll ever get!_

The entire room burst into applause, and Sypha joined in. Why be afraid when the hat was so delightful? The ceremony didn't seem scary at all, and she even noticed Albus smiling. And then she remembered that transfer students went first.

Down at the Gryffindor table, she saw James waving to his younger family. The two seats nearest him were empty – and not far away from them, she noticed, was a third. The Slytherins were easily recognizable because of the long-haired blonde sitting in front, holding a seat for Scorpius Malfoy – there was no question where that boy would be sorted. She only knew what James, Rose, and Albus had told her, but Sypha had gained a rather clear picture of the Malfoy family and their friends.

Professor Flitwick stepped forward, holding a roll of parchment almost as long as he was tall.

"When I read your name, you will sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted. Transfer students will go first, and then the rest of the first years, alphabetically." He said. "Starsdawn, Serenity!"

The former Beauxbatons girl stepped forward, and the silence was broken by a loud, hoarse voice shouting "FIRST ONE FOR HUFFLEPUFF!" Everybody stared at the Hufflepuff table, where a rather broad-shouldered student with blue hair was still cheering. Two of his fellow students elbowed him harshly, and Sypha suppressed a giggle.

Serenity scowled and marched to the stool, gently taking the hat in her hands and placing it on her head once she had sat down. The Sorting Hat crinkled, bending forward slightly. The place where its "brow" would be seemed to wrinkle further, as if it was deep in thought. After a moment it straightened up and shouted "RAVENCLAW!" The table cheered and Serenity stood, placing the hat back down again before she went off to join her new house.

"Veranades, Sypha," read Flitwick, and she approached the stool. Sypha carefully picked up the Sorting Hat, and felt a sudden rush of nervousness. Suddenly, it looked far less friendly, with its wrinkles and tears that seemed to form a face. Taking in a deep breath, she quickly sat down and put the Sorting Hat on her head. To her surprise, it began to talk.

"Well, well," said the hat, "What've we got here? Everyone's got a bit of all four houses in them, but which is best for you?"

"Gryffindor," she whispered very softly.

"I see some bravery and loyalty, all right, but that can't be everything, can it?" she could almost feel the hat grinning above her. "Hmmm, you've got ambition in spades – my, how you want to prove yourself! Are you sure you don't want to be in Ravenclaw, or perhaps Slytherin?"

"Please, not Slytherin," she whimpered, momentarily worried that the other students might hear her. "Not Slytherin."

"Are you sure, now?" the hat said with a mild chuckle. "You want to join your friends in Gryffindor, of course. I guess you should be – wait – what's that? Well, well, that certainly changes things."

Sypha felt a sudden chill, as if some great secret of hers had been laid bare, and she repeated one last time, "Please, Gryffindor, not Slytherin."

The hat responded rather quickly. "Ah, well, you do know what you want. But trust me, we don't always want what's best for us – SLYTHERIN!"

Sypha froze. She could barely even hear the sounds of the Slytherin table cheering and clapping. Everything went out of focus for a brief moment, and she felt numb. That odd chill feeling had disappeared, but it was replaced with complete and utter shock. Standing, she took the hat off her head, placing it back down on the stool – for a moment she thought she heard the Sorting Hat telling her that she'd thank him one day – and went to join her house at the Slytherin table.

Sypha barely noticed the rest of the sorting. She tried to pay attention, but her mind kept returning to those few seconds on the stool. She even failed at keeping track of where Potter and Weasley were sorted, but could guess really easily. Before long, Scorpius Malfoy plopped down into a seat next to her and said, "Hey, Alex, isn't that the girl we saw with the Potters?"

Alexander Dioti looked at her for a few seconds and nodded. "Why, it is! Welcome to Slytherin, I think you'll enjoy it here."

She gave a noncommittal nod and shook her head, trying to figure out what could possibly have gone wrong. Before long, the Sorting ceremony was finished, and the hat and stool taken away. Finally, she looked up at the staff table, seeing the teachers there. Flitwick was sitting next to Hagrid, and looked all the smaller for it. At the center of the table there sat a large, round old man with a thick, bushy moustache. He stood to his feet with a little difficulty, clearing his throat quite loudly before speaking to the crowd.

"Welcome to Hogwarts!" he announced. "To both young and old students, I say welcome! I am Professor Horace Slughorn, your headmaster – and I would love to make a few announcements before we start this feast properly. If you'd give me your ears, I have a couple of important words to say.

"To begin with, Mr. Filch says that he is getting on in years, and will not chase students out of the Forbidden Forest anymore. If you get eaten by a spider, it is now your own fault! The forest is forbidden to all students.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term, and are an excellent way to make yourself known in this school. Take advantages of the opportunities it presents! Concerning opportunities, I will be sending proper invitations to the Slug Club later this week. If you don't receive an invitation, don't fret! Do the best you can, and see if I don't add you later.

"Finally, I have a few staff announcements to make. For the first," Slughorn gestured to the seat next to him. "After Professor Ovid spent three weeks as a bookcase, he chose to begin his retirement. May I present to you the new Transfiguration teacher and head of Slytherin, Professor Leo Eytinge!"

Professor Eytinge stood and bowed. A tall, strong-looking wizard, he appeared fairly young – certainly younger than the three other professors Sypha had seen. His face was somewhat lined, but not a single strand of gray flecked his sandy blonde hair or his dark beard."It will be a pleasure to teach you all," he announced, his words tinged with a mild German accent. "I look forward to my time at Hogwarts." And then he sat down. He seemed to look directly at Sypha for a moment, but just as she was sure their eyes had locked, Slughorn began to speak and Eytinge's attention was focused on the headmaster again.

"My next announcement is a very special treat," Professor Slughorn said, extremely obvious excitement filling the old man's voice. "As you know, Defense Against the Dark Arts is a particularly hard subject to teach, and not many instructors stay on for long. This year, we have a surprise for you all. Our teacher works very high up in the Ministry – Magical Law Enforcement, in fact – and will only be able to teach us part-time when her schedule allows. For the rest of the time the class will be handled by other members of Hogwarts faculty.

"Your new teacher regrets that she cannot be here for the feast tonight, but will most definitely be presents on the first day of class. I hope that you will give her a warm welcome when she arrives – hero of the Second Wizarding War, Mrs. Hermione Weasley!"

The great Hall erupted in applause – even most of the Slytherins joined in the excitement. Sypha clapped hard, smiling a little when she very clearly heard Rose's voice scream "MUM!" from the Gryffindor table.

"And now, my dear students," Slughorn said indulgently, opening his arms to all the students. "It is time for the feast!"

Instantly the plates and platters filled with food, and the students tore into their meal. Sypha was startled at first, but soon began to eat. She still felt a strange sort of tunnel vision – barely noticing the other Slytherins at the table, absorbed in her thoughts. What was she doing in this house? Just what was the Sorting Hat talking about? Her attention also returned to the staff table more than once. She saw Hagrid, Flitwick, Slughorn, Eytinge, and the rest. As far as she could tell, Professor Eytinge never gave the Slytherin table another glance the entire night.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was obviously a refurbished dungeon – low-ceilinged, dark, and cold, even with all the students milling around inside it. The lamps and furniture were vaguely greenish, casting the entire room in that light. Sypha barely looked at the room, moving into the dormitories to find her bed. She stood near it for a while, looking around at the walls, at the other students, the shock of the Sorting ceremony finally beginning to wear off. The other students seemed friendly enough, and perhaps this wasn't going to be as bad as she feared.

Some time passed, and the dormitories became quiet. Sypha was about to go to bed when she heard something – a soft sobbing sound coming from down the hall, in the common room. She decided to follow it, walking out of the girls' dormitory. When Sypha entered the Slytherin common room she stopped in mid-step, her mouth hanging open in shock.

Albus Potter was seated on one of the Slytherin couches, alone. He was crying.


	5. Chapter 4: The Rivalry of the Houses

**Chapter 4: ****The Rivalry of the Houses**

"Albus?" Sypha asked, tentatively moving into the common room. Her heart sank as she realized exactly why he was here. Regardless, she asked, "What's wrong?" moving closer to the couch where he sat.

Albus sniffled. "Didn't you see?" he asked, and Sypha blushed. "The hat put me in Slytherin!"

"Now, now," she tried to sound comforting, but failed miserably. "I'm in here, too, aren't I?" Sypha forced a smile and sat next to the younger boy. There was a quiet cracking sound and she winced, jumping to her feet. Albus's glasses had been on the couch, and were now broken down the middle. One arm was also bent out of shape.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she apologized, searching her pockets. "I think I have my wand with me – I can fix it!"

"No," Albus answered, picking up his broken glasses. "I'll just have James do it in the morning."

"No, no, let me," Sypha said, finding that her wand. "Here… _R__eparo_!" The glasses reformed themselves in Albus's hand. He folded them and placed them safely in his robes. Sypha sat down again, checking the cushion first. "Albus, I–"

"It… it t-tricked me!" Albus suddenly bawled, putting his heads in his hands. "The hat asked me if I wanted to make my dad proud, if I wanted it more than anything else in the world! I said yes, and it put me in Slytherin. The Sorting Hat tricked me! Why would that make me a Slytherin?"

"Albus…" Sypha sighed, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Albus, you're not a bad person. The hat told me it knew what was best, and I guess – well, I guess maybe we'll find out, right?"

"The Slytherins all bullied my dad," Albus whimpered, controlling his tears for a moment. "Most of the bad guys came from Slytherin. Dad… dad said the students didn't even help when it was time to fight Voldemort! They're all sneaky and they're jerks, and I don't want to be one! I'm not like that! I'm not!"

Very gently, Sypha drew the younger child into her arms, giving him a careful, comforting hug. Her voice took on a mother's warm soothing tone. "It's okay, Albus," she said, directing him to cry on her shoulder. "The headmaster is a Slytherin, isn't he? And the new Head of the house looks like a nice guy. Albus, being here doesn't mean all that." She continued to hug him, letting him finish crying.

In time, Albus's sobs faltered, and then gradually ceased. "Th-thank you, Sypha," he sniffled against her sleeve, sitting up again. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have cried like that, should I?"

"It's okay," she said.

"I mean, James is… James is already going to tease me tomorrow. He said he'd cast a spell that would string me up from the ceiling if I weren't in Gryffindor."

"I'll bet he said he'd disown you, too," Sypha said, smiling a little bit.

"Yes… yes, he did," Albus drooped, and his eyes began to water again.

"But he won't," Sypha said, placing her hands on the boy's shoulders. "He's your brother, and he won't. Albus, look at me."

Albus looked at her. Even though she had only seen Harry Potter in pictures, Sypha was amazed how much he resembled his father. Perhaps a little smaller, but Albus even had his grandmother's green eyes.

"James is your brother," she said plainly, unblinking. "You grew up together. He loves you, and he won't disown you just because you live in separate dorms. Maybe he'll tease you, but he still loves you. Do you understand that?"

Albus nodded very quietly, holding back the tears again. "Scorpius mocked me," he said. "He said it's a riot, Harry Potter's son being in Slytherin. He's going to make life miserable for me, isn't he?"

"I don't know," she said, releasing his shoulders. "My aunt always told me that you're responsible for your own mood. It's your choice, and other people just make it more difficult to choose. We have the whole weekend before classes start. We'll see your brother and cousin tomorrow, and maybe by Monday we'll even make some new friends here, okay? Albus, are you going to be okay?"

Albus nodded a little.

"What did your father say about Slytherin?"

"He said," Albus paused, looking at his hands. "He said that the bravest man he knew was a Slytherin, and he named me after him. He also said… he said he wouldn't think any differently of me, and that I'd just… that if I were in Slytherin, then Slytherin would have a really good student."

"And he said this after everyone bullied him?"

"Yes," Albus nodded again. Sypha smiled.

"Then you'll be fine. You'll still be Albus Potter. You won't mysteriously turn into a Dementor overnight. I know I won't."

"Thanks," he finally smiled wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Albus took his glasses out of his pocket, putting them on again. "I'm really sorry, Sypha. That was embarrassing, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't embarrassing the first time you asked," she said, standing to her feet. Sypha gave his shoulder a pat. "I think it's bedtime now. Will you be all right?"

"Yes," he got up. "Thank you, Sypha. You're really nice."

She almost told him that Aunt Violet had burned the niceness into her brain, but thought better of it. "You're a very good kid, Albus," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Good night, then."

"Good night."

The lights were out when Sypha returned to the girls' dormitory, and she assumed that everyone else was already in bed. Changing quickly, she folded her school robes, laid them on the cabinet (where Solomon had already decided to sleep), and sat on her bed. Poor Albus, she thought – but he would feel better in the morning after James had a talk with him. She had just lain down when someone started talking.

"Aren't you the new transfer student?" a rather bubbly voice asked. Sypha sat up with a star, looking to her left. A blonde girl sat cross-legged on the neighboring bed. Sypha tried to shush her, noticing the other sleeping people in the room.

"I'm Lisa Pringle. What's your name?" she nearly cheered.

"Sypha Veranades," Sypha whispered. "It's late."

"I know it is, but it's the weekend. Isn't it great that September 1st was a Friday this year? We can stay up late because we've got the weekend to sleep in!"

"I'd like to eat breakfast," Sypha mumbled, lying back down. "Tomorrow morning. I need to sleep first."

"I'd like breakfast, too! So, it's a date?"

Sypha made a waving motion that she hoped passed as assent. Apparently, Lisa Pringle didn't notice.

"Because I think it'd be fun, and you need friends because you're new here. That was really nice of you to talk to that boy, even if he's a bit young. Was that the Potter kid?"

"That was Albus Potter," Sypha admitted, beginning to sit up again. "Look, if it's no difference to you, I–"

"Because I've got to tell you, I was pretty startled back there. The Potters and the Weasleys – they're like glue – are always in Gryffindor. Ever since they beat You-Know-Who, it's been a big bragging point. You know, You-Know-Who was from Slytherin, Potter was Gryffindor, Gryffindor wins, hurrah-hurrah. Wonder what his dad'll say."

"His dad will probably be proud of him anyway," Sypha folded her arms behind her head, looking up at the darkened ceiling. "At least that's what I've heard."

"Nah, he'll be upset," Lisa smiled. "Way I hear it, Potter ran around bragging and breaking rules, and he just got away with it because he killed the Dark Lord."

"Admittedly, that's kind of a big thing." Sypha felt somewhat uneasy. The things she had read about the War…

"Well, of course it is," Lisa said. "But it doesn't mean he's all perfect or anything, does it? What time're you going for breakfast?"

"Wake me when you are," Sypha said, and closed her eyes. Lisa said something else, but by that time she was halfway asleep. The next morning, she vaguely remembered dreaming about rogue sorting hats armed with bludger bats.

* * *

Breakfast the next morning started well enough. Sypha came in with Albus and Lisa, who was chatting animatedly the whole time about what classes she hoped to take. It all depended on O.W.L. scores, she said, but she had a pretty good idea what was coming. Apparation lessons were scheduled to begin in February, and Sypha found she looked forward to it.

The three of them sat down at the Slytherin table before any other members of the Potter-Weasley clan showed for breakfast. Dioti and Malfoy arrived, but sat far from Albus, and he didn't seem to notice either of them. Finally, James Potter entered the Great Hall with Rose, and they both found their seats at the Gryffindor table. Sypha quietly tapped Albus on the shoulder, pointed out his relatives and smiling.

"Go on now," she whispered quietly, giving him a nudge. Albus fidgeted, blushed, and became rather interested in his French toast. James was starting in on his scrambled eggs when he finally saw his little brother, and unconsciously imitated him with his own food. Rose cleared her throat and elbowed James, pointing at the Slytherin table. He made some sort of overblown gesture, and then stood up, beginning the long trek across the hall to the Slytherin table. Sypha smiled.

Albus began to try to shrink into his seat when James approached. Sypha considered nudging him again, but decided against it – instead, she gave a quick glance to Lisa Pringle.

"Hi," Albus squeaked.

"Hey, Al," James said, his usual bravado missing from his voice. "I, um… I just wanted to let you know that–"

And then Alexander Dioti and Scorpius Malfoy began to cheer loudly. Their chant was soon picked up by the rest of the Slytherins (with one or two exceptions).

_"We got Potter! We got Potter!"_

Albus flushed bright red and stammered something. James looked like he was about to give a witty retort when the Gryffindors started their own song.

_"So did __we__! So did __we__!"_

The Slytherins responded with:

_"We've got one this year! We've got one this year!"_

To which was answered,

_"We had one first! We had one first!"_

Sypha opened her mouth to say something, but James spoke first.

"Oh, yeah? Is that how you want it, you… you snakes!" his face nearly grew as red as his hair. "I don't care how many Potters you have, you're still Slytherins!" James was only thirteen, and while he could not have been expected to show great maturity and wisdom, that was not the best thing he could have said. Albus merely withered in his seat, beginning to look like he might try to hide under the table in a moment.

The chanting continued, and there was nearly the threat of a food fight when a loud, rough voice roared over everything. "SILENCE!" The students promptly obeyed.

Professor Eytinge stormed into the Great Hall. Sheer, blazing fury filled his features, terrifying the students into silence as he began to berate them.

"You are all disgraceful!" he raised both arms, pointing at the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. As Eytinge shouted, his accent seemed to grow thicker and thicker. "This is not how to behave as a school, this is a circus! If you do not wish to act like a school, then perhaps you should not be taught like one! Thirty points from Gryffindor and forty from Slytherin – my own house should be ashamed! In Durmstrang we are united, and we do not even speak the same languages! German, Russian, wherever we come from, we behave like a SCHOOL! Not you! You are fools! I should jinx you! Now eat in silence!"

Nobody from either table made a peep for the rest of breakfast. In fact, no one from Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw said much of anything, either.

* * *

After breakfast, Sypha had hoped that the two brothers would make some sort of reconciliation – maybe talk, play outside, or even laugh at one of James's jokes. What happened was that Albus, James, and Rose left the Great Hall at once, walked into the entrance hall, and then the boys split up without a word, each heading for his own dormitory. Sypha and Rose stood next to each other, watching them leave.

"This is madness," Rose muttered, shaking her head.

"It's not his fault," Sypha said, not specifying which brother she meant.

"How did he end up in Slytherin?"

"He said the Sorting Hat tricked him," Sypha said, remembering what the hat had told her – _we don't always want what's best for us._ "But it doesn't do that, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Rose answered. "And that's the problem. They'll never admit it, but I know Harry… Mr. Potter… his dad almost ended up in Slytherin. Maybe Albus just has a little more ambition, or he's somewhat sneakier, but the Sorting Hat doesn't trick people."

"I thought it listened to what you wanted. Personal preference, and all that."

"Yes, to a degree." Rose smiled, and Sypha realized that an eleven-year-old girl was instructing her like a teacher would a student. She didn't mind this, however. Rose continued. "But imagine if a really stupid person wanted to be in Ravenclaw. You can't be in a house just because all your friends are there. What if you wanted to be in Gryffindor, but you were a…" she paused. Giving Sypha a sheepish look. "A… well, a…"

"A Dioti or a Malfoy?" Sypha asked, taking the edge off what Rose was almost about to say.

"Hey! Don't say that about Alex!" said Lisa, who had suddenly appeared behind them. "I think he's dreamy."

"I… I don't really know him," Sypha said feebly, somewhat embarrassed. "But he started that song, didn't he?"

"So?" For a moment it looked as though Lisa literally put her nose in the air. "What does it matter? We've got one of the Potters, don't we? And – hey! You're a Potter, too, aren't you?" she asked Rose.

"I'm a Weasley," Rose responded, a little indignant.

"Same difference," Lisa said to her. "So we've got your brother."

"Cousin."

"And what are you going to do about it, Potter?"

"Weasley."

Sypha saw the need to interject. "You know, Professor Eytinge was really mad."

"What do we care?" Lisa responded, suddenly visibly upset. "He's not a real Slytherin!"

Sypha blinked, and looked at Rose for a moment. Lisa continued.

"He's only our Head of house because… because, well, look at it! None of the staff here are Slytherin!"

"The Headmaster," Rose offered, but Lisa glared at her.

"He doesn't count! He's really old, and he keeps saying he's going to retire, and… and he's it! He's the only one! Apparently no one's even applied who's a Slytherin, and they had to find someone from Durmstrang just to lead our house! It's not fair! It's obvious that Eytinge doesn't even like us – he took more points away from his own supposed house than from Gryffindor! What kind of a Head does that?"

Rose looked like she was about to say something very sharp, as her face had nearly turned the same shade of her hair. Sypha thought it would be best to change the subject at that moment.

"Well, we have the entire weekend to ourselves before classes start." Sypha forced a smile. "I really think I should learn my way around the castle."

"I'll help you," Lisa volunteered almost immediately, hooking her arm around Sypha's. "Slytherins help Slytherins, after all." She began to usher her away, shooting Rose a baleful glance. Rose responded rather graciously, smiling to Sypha.

"I'll see you later. Try to talk to Albus for me, and I'll calm James down."

"I can try," Sypha answered, and was ushered out of the room before she could say anything more.

* * *

That morning, Sypha Veranades met Peeves the Poltergeist. She spent the rest of the afternoon in the Slytherin common room, trying to restore her hair to normal. It wasn't Peeves's fault, precisely, but he had been the intended target of the stray jinx that hit her.

"You'd best let it wear off," Dioti said, reclining in an armchair. "You'll be fine by morning if you let it sit. Besides, I like new the color. Less mousy."

Sypha, who at this moment in time resembled a neon orange mop, mumbled something unintelligible, and pointed her wand at her head. Reddish sparks erupted from the tip, and she winced out of pain. Her hair remained the same. Sypha groaned, and leaned back a little bit on one of the couches.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Lisa, who was currently seated on the arm of Dioti's chair, whimpered. "I was just trying to stop him. He was going to drop things on your head, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Anything besides hexing me," Sypha answered, trying to undo the jinx again.

"Don't blame yourself," Alexander said, slipping an arm over Lisa's shoulders. "You didn't know he was going to move that desk out of the way, did you? No? Then it's Peeves's fault, and nobody else's."

"Thank you," she tried to sound sheepish, but was plainly smiling at the attention.

"That still doesn't help," Sypha muttered, trying another counter-curse. Her wand produced a white flash, and she actually cried out in pain – as well as orange rope-like hair, she now possessed a pair of curly horns.

"I'm telling you, you're not doing it right," Dioti said with a chuckle.

"Then why don't you help me?" Sypha asked him.

"All right, then." Dioti grinned, jumping to his feet. Lisa nearly fell off the chair, grabbing the back to keep from tipping over. Alexander took three steps toward Sypha, stood over her, and put his hand to his chin, making a distinctive "Hmmm" sound.

"Well, now, we could make the eyes red, possibly add a few fangs… what do you think?"

"Could you please do something about this?" Sypha asked again, touching her head. "My magic doesn't always work right, and I don't want to make it any worse than I already have."

"Yes, I think I will," Dioti said, and without another word tapped Sypha once on the head with his wand. A massive purple top hat appeared, falling nearly over her eyes. "Now nobody will see your hair."

"That's…" Sypha began to say something, but gave up after the first word.

"Let it wear off, and see Pomfrey if it doesn't," said Dioti, returning to his chair. He dropped into the seat, the impact enough to dump Lisa off her perch and onto his lap. She giggled. "And seriously, don't talk to the Gryffindors so much. They're not going to miraculously start liking us."

Oh, Alex, be nice," giggled Lisa, who then got off Dioti's lap. "We've been here six years. She's been here one day. Isn't that right, Sypha dear?" She approached and hopped onto the couch next to her. "Now, you've got a choice. You can go to dinner wearing a silly hat and let people think you're crazy, or you can pop in with your hair all a mess and wearing those horns, and people will think you're a metamorphmagus and you'll be really popular."

"Wouldn't that be calling too much attention to myself?" Sypha asked, and raised her wand again.

"And the hat wouldn't be?" Lisa lifted the top hat, giving it an incredulous look. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Could we at least do something about the horns?"

Lisa made an exaggerated gesture out of rolling her eyes. "Well, I guess, but they go so well with the hair!"

* * *

Dinner was less noisy than breakfast – there was chatter, but the students remembered Professor Eytinge's outburst well enough to behave, at least for today. Mrs. Weasley's seat at the staff table was still empty, which was unsurprising. The current student rumor was that the Hogwarts enchantment against Apparating would be lifted long enough for her to pop in, teach for a few hours, and then leave. There was also the question of just what her curriculum would be – although there was much disagreement on that point, but most students agreed that anything a hero of the Wizarding War taught was bound to be good. A fair number of the Slytherins disagreed with this, but that was a matter of principle.

Sypha felt everyone's eyes on her when she entered the Great Hall. Her hair was still neon orange, but the horns were gone. Unfortunately, they had been replaced with what looked like springy antennae. Maybe the top hat would've been better, most likely viewed as a cheap ploy for attention rather than a sign of insanity. Dioti had been correct about the jinx, though, as it was slowly beginning to wear off and some strands of mousy blonde began to show through the orange. But rather than let her normalize in peace, her new Slytherin "friends" had dragged her into the Great Hall for dinner.

"What happened to you?" Albus said, seating himself next to Sypha.

"Peeves," she answered, glaring at Lisa, who averted her gaze suddenly.

"Oh," said Albus. "Okay." He seemed a little quieter than usual, and Sypha had a decent assumption why. Over at the Gryffindor table, James was brooding, and Rose looked miffed.

"Transfiguration gone wrong?" a voice asked from behind Sypha. She jumped, and let go of her fork, which landed with a clatter on Albus's plate. Standing behind her was a very tall, broad Hufflepuff with short, blue hair. It took her a moment to recognize him because he wasn't currently shouting about his house.

"L… Louie, right?" She asked, looking a little sheepish. He nodded, and continued to talk.

"That's right – Louie Lane, Hufflepuff Beater, and… well, was it? Because that's what happened to me, and they still can't fix it. What did happen to you?"

"I really don't know," she said, turning back to her plate and trying not to call any more attention to herself.

"Yeah, I hope it wears off. You're a new girl, right? Named Vera, or something like that?"

"Sypha," she answered.

"Oh! That's it, I'm sorry!" Louie hit himself lightly on the forehead. "I'm bad with names, you know – forgot my own once, in class, but I was tired and had gotten hit on the head a few times. Nice to meet you!" He extended a hand, and Sypha grudgingly shook it. She could feel the other Slytherins staring at her – making friends with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, after all. How long until she began socializing with the Ravenclaws?

"Well, I'd better get back to my table," Louie said, demonstrating a rather wide grin. "Tryouts are next week, and we've got strategizing to do!" He immediately dashed back to the Hufflepuff table, vaulting over a few Ravenclaw first years on the way.

"Do new people always get this kind of attention?" Sypha asked Dioti. He responded by pointing to the Ravenclaw table, where a certain French student was busily fending off the advances of three or four seventh years. Suddenly, she found she couldn't wait for Monday's classes.


	6. Chapter 5: Slug Club

**Chapter 5: ****Slug Club**

Herbology, the first class on Monday morning was shared with the Gryffindors. Sypha shuffled into the greenhouse, taking a moment to look around and properly orient herself while other students filed in behind her. Lisa handed her a pair of gloves before she had thought to ask, and Sypha was about to whisper a word of thanks when a voice spoke from among the potted plants.

"Now if you'd all arrange yourselves in a row there, two to a Snargaluff – those little gnarled stumps – that would be great," the professor said, standing up from behind a patch of vegetation, where he had been tending to a particularly large and knobbly Mimbulus Mimbeltonia. He brushed some dirt from his robes, smiling to the students, and Sypha had to think for a moment that he was probably the most handsome teacher she had ever seen. He was slightly round-faced, but there was something about him that seemed absolutely dashing – and telling from the way the rest of the class behaved, she wasn't the only student to think so, either.

"Welcome," he said. "Though I'm sure most of you know me here, I might as well give the introduction again – I can see there are a few of you who don't. My name is Professor Longbottom, and I am the Herbology teacher. Herbology is an excellent subject – It fosters a greater appreciation of the outside world and of nature, and is the gateway to a great many magical careers, even including that of Auror.

"But to be honest," Professor Longbottom grinned. "I love how this greenhouse makes me feel. Surrounded by living parts of our world, learning how to care and tend for it – whether planting or pruning – is exhilarating, majestic, and it is that feeling that I want to impart to all of you. Canning the pre-prepared speech, I guarantee that we will have a lot of fun this term, so long as you remember that I'm preparing all of you for your N.E.W.T.s next year, and these plants are going to be significantly more complicated than you have seen before.

"We'll start with something relatively easy, though. The Snargaluff is a plant I myself studied in my sixth year, and if you'll all take your gloves, you can – Yes, Miss Diggle?" The professor stopped, pointing to a Gryffindor who was excitedly bouncing up and down, her hand in the air.

"Could you show us your coin?" the student asked. The professor took on a slightly abashed grin, and Sypha could swear she almost saw him blush. Lisa elbowed her.

"You'll love this," she whispered to Sypha. "Even the Slytherins like it. Just watch."

"Well," the professor said, reaching into his pocket. "It's no secret that I was part of Dumbledore's Army while I was in school – students who helped fight against Voldemort." Longbottom paused, as some of the students gasped at his use of the name.

"Don't worry, he's long gone now. Using his name won't make him come back," he said, and held out his hand, holding a single gold Galleon. "This is no ordinary Galleon," he said. "We used it to contact other members of the DA and inform them of new meeting times. The serial numbers would change, you see – we had to do it in secret when we were banned from practicing defensive magic at Hogwarts."

"You were banned?" a student asked – although her tone of voice seemed to imply that she knew the answer, she just wanted to hear the story again.

"Yes, we were," he answered her. "That was right when the war was beginning, and the Ministry was afraid that professor Dumbledore might attempt a coup. Needless to say, they were wrong – but that's a story for another day. Ask me when we aren't burning up class time!"

Most of the students groaned collectively, and Neville Longbottom put the coin back in his pocket. "I'll let you all pass it around at the end of class," he explained. "But first, we need to get to work on these plants. Now, the Snargaluff is a particularly deceptive plant, resembling nothing so much as a dead tree stump. But when agitated, however…"

Overall, Herbology went reasonably well. Although Snargaluff plants attacked immediately once the stumps were touched, and several students were nearly strangled, almost everybody had managed to extract their pods. Professor Longbottom had to help a Gryffindor named Phineas Bones from being throttled, and it caused the class some relief to see that even their professor had difficulty in beating back the plant's thorny vines. In spite of that, and even despite the fact that students kept asking Neville about his Dumbledore's Army days, each team had juiced two Snargaluff pods early enough for the class period to end with a few minutes to spare.

Sypha lagged slightly behind, clearing the rest of her work area when the professor spoke. "May I have a word with you?" She pointed to herself for confirmation, and he nodded.

"Somebody's in trouble," Lisa Pringle said quietly, but grinned to Sypha. "Just kidding. You'll be fine. He's a big softie. See you in class!" she skipped away, joining Dioti among the other departing students.

"Yes, Professor Longbottom?" Sypha asked, wondering if there was a problem.

"You're Cipher Veranades, the transfer student?" he asked her, eyeing the Slytherin badge on her robes. There was no obvious disdain on Longbottom's face or in his tone, but he seemed to quickly shift his attention to his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, which he had now set next to him on the table.

"Sypha, sir," she answered, lowering her head a little.

"Oh!" he blushed. "I'm sorry – I always mess up names, you know – forget little things from time to time. Anyway, you're from Salem, aren't you? Professor Slughorn briefed me – us – the teachers – about this year's transfers. Your record says that you have trouble with magic sometimes, is that right?"

"I…" Sypha began to wonder what this was about. As nice as the professor seemed, he was the head of Gryffindor house. "I… yes, sometimes."

Longbottom motioned for her to continue, and stroked the Mimbletonia with his free hand. It made an odd crooning noise. Sypha cleared her throat, and went on.

"It goes in cycles," she explained. "It's hard to say – I don't think I'm that terrible at magic, but sometimes… sometimes it doesn't feel right, and my spells go out of control. They don't make sense – I could be trying a Summoning charm, and I'll blow something up. Or I could be transfiguring a mouse into a teacup, and the desk will come to life – that was one of the worst – do you know what I mean?"

"Interesting," he said, returning his attention to her. "Go on."

"And it… it's not all the time, either. I was all right when I took my O.W.L.s, and they went really well. Nothing's been wrong since. But it's weird sometimes – once in a while it's like I'm getting sick, or pressure of some kind is building up, and things just go incredibly wrong. I'm sorry, Professor," she shook her head. "Why are you asking this? Isn't everything in my record?"

Professor Longbottom smiled warmly. "I had a lot of trouble with my magic when I was younger," he answered. "My family even thought I was a squib until I was eight. When I came here, one professor said that I caused nothing but destruction when I wielded my wand. It really wasn't until my fifth year that I–"

"Are you offering to help me?' Sypha interrupted, her tone carrying genuine suspicion. The professor paused, sensing this – she was, after all, Slytherin, and he was the Head of Gryffindor.

"I offered to help you before you were sorted," he explained after a few moments' silence. "Your house has nothing to do with it. And besides, I know Al, and he mentioned you as a friend." His tone dropped, becoming more serious. "I'm not about to sabotage your entire house, and I'm not about to treat you like the next Voldemort. My problem was lack of self-confidence, and you probably have the same – maybe some wand control issues, too, from the sound of it. I'm interested in helping my students – all of my students – and if you need help from me, I can guarantee I'll try. My office is open."

Longbottom's speech surprised Sypha, who reflected that Salem teachers were never this personal. Because they had more students to deal with due to the country's size, this kind of student-teacher interaction was very, very rare.

"Thank you, sir," she muttered quickly.

"I teach here so I can help students," Longbottom said, offering another smile. "Now, I think I've held you too long – better hurry to your next class!"

"Thank you," she said again before turning – and, after realizing the time, running to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Despite Sypha's lateness, the professor was not in the classroom when she arrived. Quickly seating herself with the other Slytherins, she turned to Dioti.

"Where's the teacher?" Sypha asked. He shrugged.

"How should I know? Do I keep professors in my pocket?"

"Sorry," she said, looking at the door, then at the rest of the students. They were sharing with the Ravenclaws this year, and she could see Serenity, the Beauxbatons transfer, sitting in the front row.

"Passed Professor Slughorn in the hall," Dioti said, extracting a small roll of parchment from his robes. "He told me to give you this." He slipped the scroll onto Sypha's desk. But before she could open it, the door to the classroom opened suddenly with a bang. Walking in with incredible speed was a tall, bushy-haired woman, dressed in Ministry work robes. She seemed to be out of breath.

"So sorry," she said quickly, setting a small beaded bag on the podium. "Case went longer than I thought. Apparated to Hogsmeade, had to jog through the hallways to get here," she cleared her throat, and turned to look at the class properly. "My name is Hermione Weasley, and it is my pleasure to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.

"Now," she began to unpack the contents of her bag, which seemed to hold many more books than should have been able to fit. "I've been looking over your curriculum for the last several years to get a feel for what you do and do not know, and I must say, your previous professor did an excellent job in preparing you all for your O.W.L.s. There were, however, a few – rather glaring, in my opinion – omissions, and we will have to work extra-hard to remedy those in time for your N.E.W.T.s next year. But first, we need to take Roll, as I'm afraid I really haven't met any of you yet."

The professor began to read off a list of students, and Lisa Pringle nudged Sypha gently, whispering, "So, what did Longbottom want with you?"

"He wanted…" she began to respond, but then realized she had no idea how to explain it. "I'm not sure. I'll tell you later."

Once Roll was called, the professor formally began to lecture.

"I noticed that none of you have studied the Patronus Charm yet," she said. "That amazed me. I understand that it's a very difficult spell – many grown wizards have difficulty with it – and that it is, at the very least, N.E.W.T. level, but most of my class learned it in their fifth year. We even had one student," she raised a finger. "Who learned it in his third. Yes, Miss Pringle?" Professor Weasley gestured toward the Slytherin with her hand in the air.

"But wasn't that Harry Potter? I mean, you can't expect all of us to be like that, can you?"

"Well, yes it was," Hermione said, nodding. "However, I am not Harry. Your Professor Longbottom is not Harry – and we had some even younger students in there who learned the Patronus. None of them were Harry, last I checked. Besides that, Harry Potter is just a man. My husband and I have been his best friends for years; we know him."

Pringle seemed unconvinced.

"Did you know that his O.W.L. results had a 'Poor' in Divination and only an 'Acceptable' in Astronomy?" the professor continued. "Harry Potter, like everybody else, is a human being – an exceptional human being, but a human nonetheless. Even Voldemort was just a human, and the entire reason why he fell because he didn't understand his own limitations."

Sypha realized that this was the second faculty member she had heard use Voldemort's name, and wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that both teachers had actually fought him. She felt a moment of respect for Hermione, and devoted more attention to the lecture.

Hermione spent most of the lecture explaining the theory behind the Patronus charm, and different uses for it. She promised to give a demonstration of the spell after they had finished theory, and would soon after begin to train the students.

"But for now," she said, grinning. "As your homework, I want you to determine what your happiest thought is, and work on focusing on it. This will come in handy when it's finally time to begin practicing the spell." After a few moments, she added, "Also, I want two and a half feet of parchment on why the Patronus is the best method of dealing with Dementors. Please restrict your margins to no wider than one inch, and do not use unreasonably large handwriting. I was a student, too. I will be collecting your essays on Friday."

A few of the students grumbled over the early homework, but most were still in awe over their new professor as they dispersed. Sypha held back a little, watching Professor Weasley pack her things and begin to move out from the classroom. She followed, intending to ask about Rose and the two Potter brothers

"Professor Weasley?" Sypha asked.

"Yes?" The professor responded, glancing downward to her. "Veranades, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sypha nodded, and thought – was this the best time to ask about Voldemort's name? "I was wondering if you could–"

Sypha was interrupted by a loud German voice, sounding mildly gruff in spite of its apparent cheerfulness.

"Hermione? You are Hermione Granger?" Professor Eytinge asked, cutting past Sypha to approach Hermione.

"Yes?" Hermione Weasley responded, giving him a confused look.

Ah, you would not remember me," he extended his hand, grasping Hermione's almost before she could offer it. "I am Leopold – Leopold Eytinge. Do you remember me?" he nodded. "No, no, you would not! Ah, you see – I attended Durmstrang, I was here for the Triwizard tournament, and I was the same year as Viktor Krum. Surely you remember Krum, yes?"

At that, Hermione took a step back, blinking twice. "Yes, yes, I remember Viktor very well. I write to him on occasion. You were there?"

"Yes, yes!" Eytinge nearly cheered, giving her hand another shake. "That is right – we were very annoyed, he could never stop talking about you. 'Hermy-ninny' this, 'Hermy-ninny' that – I admit there must have been something endearing. However! However, I must take you for tea sometime soon. We should meet in The Three Broomsticks, yes?" He asked, his eyes nearly sparkling with glee.

Noticing the time, Sypha turned and walked to her next class.

* * *

"So, what is the 'Slug Club?'" Sypha asked, looking at the parchment. She was seated on one of the larger chairs in the Slytherin common room. Dioti and Lisa sat on the couch. Albus was not present – Sypha barely saw him before he ran into the boys' dormitory. She suspected that he had been in another fight with his brother, and was considering having a word with him after dinner.

"Slughorn's been doing it since he was Potions Master," Lisa Pringle explained. "He likes making connections with students he thinks are going to 'mean something' someday. Sometimes it's because of talent, but usually they're just related to somebody he thinks is 'important.' If you ask me, it's all a load of rubbish."

"She's just upset because she's not invited," Dioti said, grinning. "No significant relatives, you know." Lisa elbowed him.

"I am, too!" she protested. "I'll have you know, my great-grandfather was Apollyon Pringle, caretaker right here at Hogwarts!"

"And that's probably why Slughorn won't invite you," he responded, immediately bracing himself for further violence.

"Do you think Albus got an invitation?" Sypha asked.

"He's a Potter! Of course he did!" said Lisa.

"So, why do you think he invited you?" Dioti asked, shifting the subject away from the Potter family. "Who do you know?"

"I have no idea," Sypha said, rolling up the parchment. "But it's this evening, so I guess I'll find out."

* * *

Albus Severus Potter tried to slink his way to dinner undetected. He was going to go downstairs, grab some food, and then disappear back up to the dormitory before anybody would notice. And he most definitely wouldn't go to the Slug Club, invitation or not. Today had been rough enough already – despite Professor Eytinge's tirade on Saturday, the Hogwarts houses had continued to wage war, Gryffindor and Slytherin in particular. It wasn't his fault – he had tried to talk to James and Rose, but had been ambushed by a bunch of other Gryffindors first. Of course, the fact that the Slytherins had kept their little cadence of "We got Potter!" likely did not help things at all. This wasn't what his dad said was going to happen! He may have been stuck there, but Albus didn't feel like a true Slytherin – despite their song, they certainly hadn't treated him like one of their own. Malfoy in particular had taken almost every opportunity to tease him in classes. Potions class was terrible (something his father would have found ironic), as Scorpius had mocked him into forgetting when he was supposed to put in the porcupine quills, and the resulting concoction nearly blew up in everyone's faces. Professor Merrythought almost docked points from their house for that.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the worst, though. Aunt Hermione didn't mistreat him, but he felt so ashamed – he felt as though his mere existence was an embarrassment to her, and as they shared it with the Gryffindors… well, there was Rose. When the class ended, Albus ran before either of them could have confronted him. He was depressed. He was ashamed. He wanted his daddy more than anything right now. Would he really have to endure seven years of this? He was only eleven! Wasn't severe emotional drama supposed to wait until one's teenage years?

"Hey, Al!" Sypha called out from behind, breaking Albus's train of thought and startling him so much that he nearly jumped a foot. "Going to dinner? That's great, so was I!"

"I wasn't really," he said, blushing – he wanted to hide in his robes like a turtle. "I was just going to grab a little something and then go do my homewo–"

"Your homework can wait," Sypha said, grabbing his hand. "We're going to go downstairs, and have a good time with your family. Okay?"

He almost burst into tears.

"Al?" she asked, leaning forward just a little – there wasn't much of a height difference between them, but she still wanted to be on eye level. "Al, what's wrong? Did something else happen today?"

Albus shook his head. "No, it's just… My dad always said…" he trailed of, not finishing his sentence.

"I think your dad would want you and James to reconcile," she answered. "You're brothers. This little spat won't mean anything a week from now, and you know it. Okay? Now, let's go down to dinner, and see what happens. All right?" She took his hand again, beginning to lead him in the direction of the great hall.

"All right," he said weakly, and began to follow.

"Did you get a Slug Club invitation?" Sypha asked after a few moments.

Albus nodded. "Yeah, but I'm not gonna go."

"Why not? Worried about fighting with your brother?"

Albus didn't respond, and Sypha frowned.

"I got an invitation. I'll go – you can come with me, I don't think it's any problem. If James shows, maybe you two will patch things up when there isn't an audience out for blood. If not… well, if not, you'll still be somewhere where you can have fun. You need it, Al. Okay?"

"Why are you doing all this?" Albus asked.

"Because I'm your friend," she answered. "And because the three of you are good kids, and I don't want to see any of you hurting yourselves over something this stupid. Okay?"

"Okay," he admitted, and continued to follow her to dinner.

Unfortunately, both James and Rose had already eaten, and were not present. Albus ate dejectedly with the rest of the Slytherins, and Sypha behaved like a protective older sister, keeping the taunts away. Partway through the meal, Louie came over to the Slytherin table, and talked to Sypha about the upcoming Quidditch trials (he had been made captain of the team), and whether Professor Eytinge could fix his hair.

* * *

Professor Slughorn's office was wide open for the meeting – and the interior was probably enchanted to be larger, as it fit all the invited students without any difficulty. Aside from portraits of past Hogwarts headmasters (including both of Albus Severus's namesakes), there were many pictures – mostly signed – of famous witches and wizards from the last three-quarters of a century. Not surprisingly, a picture of a young Harry Potter took center stage. The headmaster himself, in all his plump, bald, mustachioed glory, stood behind his desk. Standing with him was an old, scraggly man whose expression resembled a slightly-misshapen wood carving.

"Ah, welcome, everyone!" Slughorn announced once the last few stragglers had made their way inside. "Welcome to the first Slug Club meeting of the year – As nearly all of you already know why you're here, I'll let you explain it to those who don't. Now, for the festivities today, I have somebody to introduce to you all – Philemon Stern, from the Department of Magical Creatures. Mr. Stern has made incredible strides in keeping the Dementor population under control, and if what I have heard is correct," he winked. "He just may be publishing a book soon. Isn't that right, Phineas?"

"That is correct," Stern spoke in a dismal tone most commonly associated with undertakers. "It will be ready for the presses before October. The Dementor population must always be kept in check, or we will die," he moaned, his beady eyes searching the students. "They feed off negative emotions. Sadness. Fear. Lack of hope. These are food to the Dementors. The negative must be countered with the positive. Joy. Courage. Hope. Gaiety is an excellent remedy to the Dementors. Therefore, your celebration tonight is necessary. You should do so this evening. Enjoy yourselves," he glowered.

"Well!" Slughorn shouted, clapping him on the back. Stern growled. "I'm sure you can tell the students all about your work during the party. For now, let us break out the butterbeer and get to know one another!"

The party genuinely began then, and Sypha spotted a pair of redheaded kids in the corner of the room – James and Rose. She was about to direct Albus to them when a hand pressed down on her shoulder.

"Sypha, my girl!" the headmaster declared, a glass of elf-made wine in one hand. "Ah-ha! I see you're friendly with the Potters, are you? I must ask, but have you met Miss Starsdawn? She just arrived from Beauxbatons, the same time as you, and I love to get to know the new transfers every year."

"I–" she began to say, but was immediately ushered over to Serenity Starsdawn, the seventh-year Ravenclaw.

"Hello," she said, not really sure how to greet the other girl.

"Hello to you too, I saw you in class," Serenity said, her accent barely noticeable. "Defense class. Can you believe what they did, telling me that my Defense from Dark Arts in Beauxbatons was lacking? I am seventh year – why should I be in the class with sixth-years?"

"I don't know. Weather's nice isn't it?" Sypha responded.

"Well, my dear girls," Slughorn harrumphed, "You simply must tell me all about your education. How is Maxime doing, Miss Starsdawn? Is Sutton still spinning his crackpot theories about the Native Americans, Miss Veranades?"

The questioning went on like this for a short while: Slughorn subtly attempting to figure out who the transfer students knew and what they were capable of, and both girls responding as best they could. It shortly became obvious that while Serenity was on very good, personal terms with most of the Beauxbatons faculty, Sypha barely knew her old teachers. She began to notice that Slughorn was paying her less and less attention, and with some annoyance realized that she might as well not have existed. She slipped away from the conversation, trying to find either a Potter or a Weasley, but before she could identify any of them, she accidentally ran into the special guest.

"Hello?" Sypha asked Philemon Stern.

"I smell the presence of Dementors," he responded grimly. "We must continue the levity." His lips parted in an unsettling grin, and he went to the punchbowl.

Sypha shivered, and moved as far from him as she could go. She really didn't want to know what kind of a Patronus he was capable of producing. After a short while, Sypha finally found Albus, but he and James were on opposite ends of the room. Unfortunately, things remained that way for the rest of the party.


	7. Chapter 6: Tea at Hagrid's

**Chapter Six: Tea at Hagrid's**

"Welcome, everyone, to Transfiguration," Professor Eytinge announced to the class, moving around the classroom in a hyperactive manner. "I am Professor Leopold Eytinge, and this is your class. I will teach, you will learn, we will have fun. Transfiguration is excellent, but a difficult topic – as I must prepare you for your N.E.W.T. testing, we have much to go over!"

As the students attempted to translate what Eytinge had just said, he continued his introduction. "Emphasis this year will be on the non-verbal, not the verbal. I will ask that you do not speak your spells if you can help it. Do you have _Advanced Transfiguration?_ All of you? Turn to the first chapter, in which we will emphasize…"

Eytinge managed to combine endlessly hyperactive energy with an extremely detailed, nitpicky lecture style. As a result, his classes managed to be frenetic, difficult to follow, but at the same time widely entertaining. His accent was light enough to avoid confusion, and he appeared to enjoy the act of teaching itself. Eytinge assigned a ridiculous amount of homework, but as the class had already survived Hermione, they didn't seem particularly shocked. He was also a big giver and taker of house points, apparently under the mistaken impression that they came in multiples of twenty. Professor Eytinge also demonstrated awareness of which house he headed, as he paid more attention to the Slytherin students than the Gryffindors who shared the same class. Among them, Sypha had noticed that he called on her more than anybody else, but she attributed that to the fact that she was seated in the center of the front row, directly in his line of sight. At one point she swore she could count his nose hairs. Next time, she was going to sit in the back, against the wall.

"Well, my class, I will appreciate your homework next week," he concluded his lecture with a cheerful tone. "And then we will begin practicing our magic. Practice on inanimate objects will be short. Be prepared to transfigure each other by Halloween!"

Sypha gathered her books and supplies, and handed Lisa her quill (which, along with her book and wand, had somehow migrated to Sypha's desk) when the professor spoke again.

"Veranades? Sypha Veranades?"

"What is it with you and the teachers?" Lisa asked, gathering the rest of her things. "Are you having secret affairs behind my back?"

"I… don't… know…" Sypha answered, turning toward Eytinge. "Yes… yes, professor Eytinge. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, but I would like to speak to you," he grinned.

Lisa had already fled. "Professor, what do you need?" She moved to his desk, still shuffling her books.

"You are related to Violet Veranades, by any chance?" There was an odd gleam in his eye – an expression of excitement seemingly out of place, until Sypha realized that she recognized it. He had looked almost the same way when he saw Professor Weasley the previous day.

"Yes, she's my aunt," Sypha answered. When she saw his reaction, she smiled a little. Eytinge was overjoyed, reaching over the desk to shake her hand.

"That is fantastic! Fantastic! I have not seen her in years!" he said, and the last glint of sternness left his eyes. "We were together in Durmstrang – not that kind of together, no! She had a fondness for Richard, but that is something else – she was my friend, a good friend. How is she?"

"She's fine," she said, her mind processing the sudden influx of information. Sypha knew her aunt had attended Durmstrang, but really nothing more than that. "I could send her an owl for you, if you want."

"No, no, I will send one, myself!" he answered, and gave her hand a squeeze. "It is such a small world, is it not? When you go to Hogsmeade, I must buy you tea, little Sypha. I certainly must!"

Blushing more than a little, Sypha politely withdrew her hand and took her supplies again. "Thank you, Professor. I guess I'll see more of you, but I really need to get to class right now."

"Feel free, feel free!" he said, beginning to usher her out of the classroom. "And do tell me how your aunt is! I would love to meet her again – ah, the memories. The memories!"

* * *

Dinner that day was pleasant, and Sypha was surprised to see Albus in a cheerful mood, wolfing down his food. It was a nice change from the melancholy, depressed little boy he was steadily becoming, and enough for her to ask him how he was.

"I'm great," he answered between mouthfuls, "I can't wait until tomorrow!"

"What's tomorrow?" Sypha asked, showing enough courtesy to swallow before speaking. "Besides Friday, that is."

"Hagrid's invited me to tea tomorrow!" answered the boy. Sypha remembered the boy mentioning it earlier, and smiled. "He's a great friend of my family, and I really like seeing him. I'm not old enough to take his class yet."

"That's nice," Sypha said, and began chewing on some more roast beef.

"What, Hagrid? That bloody oaf?" somebody else interrupted. It was Scorpius. "You want to spend time with him? My dad says he can't tell a boggart from a bezoar! He'd like nothing more than to feed students to the first fanged, hairy thing he can find, that's what my dad says. You know he almost got my dad killed once. In his own class, too! It was a hippogriff that nearly did him in."

"That's not true!" Albus shouted, almost knocking over his glass of milk. As she swallowed her roast beef, Sypha looked across the table to Alexander, who was sitting with Scorpius. She began to mentally consider meeting with him later and devising a series of hand-signs to signal when to muffle the kid. Dioti saw her expression and chose to intervene.

"Now, that was over twenty years ago, and your dad was barely bigger than you are now," he turned Scorpius's attention away from Albus, only glancing for a brief moment to Sypha. "Don't torment the kid over it. Besides, about Hagrid," Alexander leaned in closer and whispered something in Scorpius's ear that made him chuckle. Albus glared at them, and Sypha put a sisterly arm around the younger boy, drawing his attention away.

"Ignore them, you'll enjoy yourself tomorrow." She said.

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts!" Sypha smiled. "You've been looking forward to this all week, haven't you?" Albus nodded. "You, James, and Rose will enjoy yourselves, I'm sure."

Upon seeing the frown on Albus's face, Sypha realized that was the wrong thing to say.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"I don't want to see my brother."

For a moment, Sypha imagined shaking the boy until the dreariness left him. Instead, she banished the thought quickly and said, "Don't say that – you know he loves you, and I think you two can put aside your differences for an afternoon."

Her statement was met with sullen silence. Sypha sighed, shook her head, and began to eat some more. Albus picked at his plate, his good mood completely evaporated. Alexander and Scorpius were laughing about something, and Lisa had begun to join them in conversation when Albus spoke again.

"Sypha?"

"Hm?" she looked toward him, swallowing some broccoli.

"Could you come with me tomorrow?"

She blinked twice, and set down her fork. "Albus, I think this is meant to be a family thing."

"But it'd be just me against them! One Slytherin and two Gryffindors!" Sypha was about to say that it didn't necessarily have to be that way, but he kept talking. "If you come, then it's two and two. I know Hagrid'll like you, Sypha – could you please come with me?"

Now in a difficult position, Sypha took another forkful of vegetables to give herself a moment to think of an answer. In that time, Albus began to use what her aunt always called "Puppy dog eyes."

"Please?"

She agreed to go.

* * *

That night, Sypha was awake far later than the other Slytherin girls, although not out of her own choice. She laid on her bed, underneath the covers, and stared up at the ceiling. Solomon had long since curled up to sleep on one of Sypha's spare robes. He would probably hop onto the bed to curl up with her later. For now, Sypha had too much on her mind to sleep – work for Weasley and Eytinge's classes, Professor Longbottom's offer, and most importantly tea at Hagrid's – or rather, what will happen when the Potter brothers see each other at his hut. Maybe she and Rose could work out a way to keep them from killing each other – or they could ask Hagrid to sit on them, depending on what else happened. Finally feeling tired, Sypha closed her eyes. Maybe things would work out tomorrow. They couldn't stay mad like that forever, could they? Her thoughts began to drift.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Sypha's eyes opened with a start, and she almost fell out of bed. The sound came from the window. She turned, and–

_Tap, tap, tap._

A black owl, its feathers nearly as dark as the midnight sky, perched neatly on the sill outside the dungeon window. Sypha sat up in her bed, looking at it. It waited a few seconds, and tapped the glass again.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"Weird," Sypha whispered to herself as she stood up. "I've never gotten an owl this late." And then the voice of worry spoke from inside her head: _It must be an emergency. There's no other reason why an owl would come this late._

She began to move toward the window, having taken a step closer when that little voice inside her spoke again, both illogical and unquestionable in its simplicity. _That's not an owl._

_Nonsense!_ she answered herself. _What else could it be? A vampire bat?_

_Tap, tap, tap._

Its eyes were red. Shiny black marbles surrounded by a thin crimson ring. She stopped in her tracks, unable to reconcile this. A knot began to tighten in her stomach, and she stood where she was, frozen. _Don't answer it. It's not an owl._

_Tap, tap, tap._

She could see it more clearly now that she was closer. Its feathers were wispy, frayed, and dust fell from them even as it stood there. Its red eyes locked with hers, and Sypha realized something else. Message-bearing owls had notes attached. This bird's legs were bare. Casually, it lifted its beak and tapped the window again.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Sypha blinked, and realized that she was even closer to the window now, within arm's reach. The voice of worry was screaming inside her head, telling her not to open the window – to just go back to bed and hope that it would go away. She had determined to walk back to her bed when she saw that her hand was already on the latch. Sypha's breath stopped in her throat, and–

An earsplitting yowl broke Sypha's trance as Solomon pounced at the windowsill. The black owl took flight immediately, fluttering away in a flurry of dust and feathers. The cat hissed, perched on the sill between Sypha and the window. His back was arched. She stumbled back from the window, control of her own muscles completely restores to her. Sypha ran into her bed and fell on it with a startled yelp. By a sheer miracle, the noise had woken up nobody else in the dormitory. Still trembling from her experience, Sypha ducked under the covers, pulling them tightly over herself. Solomon stayed by the window, and for the rest of the night, until she went to sleep, Sypha's thoughts were a single litany, repeated.

_Please, don't let it come back. Please, don't let it come back._

Sypha did not have pleasant dreams.

* * *

Sypha's lack of sleep must have messed her up the next day, as she had a headache that lasted throughout Professor Weasley's class. She really first noticed it when she filed in with the other students. There was a brief flicker of silver light near the professor, which she appeared to hastily cover up.

"Don't mind that, class. Just practicing – you'll get your demonstration in a moment."

"Well, the professor's here on time!" Dioti commented without trying to be quiet. Several Slytherins did indeed join in mock applause, while most of the Ravenclaws glared at them.

"Why do you have to say things like that?" Sypha chided in a whisper. "She's our teacher. Be nice."

"Gryffindor, and things like that," he shrugged. "Don't be so tetchy."

"I'm sorry, I've got a headache" she said, although she really couldn't remember having one before stepping into the classroom.

"We'll see how much you applaud if you survive this course," Professor Weasley remarked grimly, and waited for her students to seat themselves before properly opening the class.

"First, I want your parchments on the Patronus spell here, on my desk. Please pass them in front. You may bring them here, Miss Starsdawn." She moved to the front of her desk. "Now. We have been studying the theory behind the Patronus charm all week. None of you are ready to begin practicing for it, I think, but we are perfectly on schedule to begin work on our happy thoughts. Yes, that's right, Miss Starsdawn – right there on the corner, next to my bag. Just leave them there for now, and I'll look over them later. Yes, that's right. You may go back to your seat now, Miss Starsdawn. Where was I?"

Sypha rubbed her forehead and tapped her quill against her parchment. She would have reason to take notes soon enough. Lisa leaned closer, and whispered to her.

"If that headache persists until lunch, remind me to give you something."

Sypha smiled to her friend, and nodded. "Really, I'll be all right," she said. "But thank you."

"For all of you," the professor said, and Sypha noticed that she had increased her volume, "I've got a special treat. I promised it, and I will deliver. How many of the students gathered here have actually seen a Patronus spell performed?"

About one-third of the students' hands shot up. Hermione nodded.

"Very well, then – this will be a surprise for most of you." She raised her wand in the air, and flicked it once. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

Bright silvery light shot out of the professor's wand, soon coalescing into the shape of a long, slender animal. The otter danced this way and that, darting over students' heads, weaving between the rows, and backflipping up through the air, leaving a pale, glittery trail of light behind it as it streamed back toward the professor. The students clapped and cheered, but Sypha nearly missed it. Her head pounded harder, seemed to surge, and she winced – Sypha almost closed her eyes, but was determined to see the Patronus. Despite her physical feelings, she found it beautiful, and clapped with everybody else. The silver otter eventually returned to Professor Weasley, and disappeared. The class applauded – even a decent number of Slytherins – and she basked in it.

"Well, now. That was fun," the professor said. "Now, if you'll turn with me to page ninety-three, we will see the textbook's definition of a proper 'happy thought.' Ignore this when you practice, as it's wrong, but read it anyway. It'll be on the test."

Sypha turned and read, beginning to jot down notes as she did so. Her head felt better, but was still bothering her a little. She pushed it to the back of her mind as she listened and took notes, occasionally asking questions about why the concept of "happy thoughts" seemed so amazingly complex when explained in class. What at first seemed like a simple concept became daunting very easily. The happiest memory possible? How could one determine that?

Apparently, this is why the class should have been more grateful that Professor Hermione Weasley assigned three feet of parchment on what each student's happiest memory is and why – due Monday, of course. To help.

Once class ended, Sypha decided to try again – this would be her fourth attempt – to talk to Weasley about the Potter problem. She was Rose's mother, after all. In spite of her (now greatly faded) headache, she stepped up to the professor's desk and began to ask,

"Professor Weasley, may I have a moment? I'd like to ask abo-"

It was at that point when Lisa Pringle took her by the arm and began dragging her off.

"Now, now, you little teacher's pet, there's no time for that when you're sick."

"But-"

"But nothing! I saw you cringing and rubbing your head in class! Come! Come!"

Before she was forced out of the room, Sypha managed to shout, "Potter brothers! Fighting! Talk to them!" to Rose's mother. Then she turned on Lisa. "What were you doing? You're so pushy!"

"And you're in a bad mood today," Lisa answered. "Stop snapping. If your head's really as bad as you're making it seem, it's either great-grandpa's herbal tea, or Pomfrey. I'll make you choose! I swear I will!"

Sypha sighed. "All right," she said. "All right. Let's go to lunch, and you can get that tea or whatever. But I've been trying to talk to that professor all week."

"You've got nine months. One week won't make a difference!"

Sypha really had no choice but to let Lisa cheer her up on the way to lunch. Later, she had to admit that her great-grandfather's tea must have been good, as her head began to clear almost immediately.

"How are you feeling?" Lisa asked, nearly leaning over the other girl.

"I'm all right," Sypha put on a smile and took another sip of her tea. "I'm all right, really. I mean it."

"Oh, come on. You're a friend. Slytherin, and whatever. Right?"

"Right. Please don't overdo it?"

"I'm not overdoing it," Lisa said. "I need to look at your notes today. Is that all right? I couldn't make out a word of what that Weasley woman was blathering on about." When Lisa asked this, she began gently rubbing the other girl's scalp. "There. Does your head feel better?"

Sypha closed her eyes and approximated a purring sound. "That's fine. Take the notes. All of them." She held the cup of tea close to herself, breathing in its aroma. Her head was all better now – but why spoil the mood by telling Lisa that?

Suddenly, a completely separate set of hands massaged at Sypha's shoulders. "Can I borrow some money?" Dioti asked, and Lisa giggled. "Just a few Galleons, please? Would it help if I gave you tea, too?"

"Alex, stop making a scene!" Sypha shrugged him off her shoulders, and turned around. "Both of you – you'll get the whole school staring at us!"

She looked. They were.

"Don't mind us," Alexander said, taking a seat. "Just remember it when I get sick, okay?"

"Seriously, Sypha. Do you feel better?" Lisa asked, sitting next to her. "Well enough to stop by Hagrid's tonight with your little friend?"

"You don't have a problem with that?" Sypha asked, looking to Lisa.

She shrugged. "Why should I? You're my friend, Slytherins stick together, Albus is a Sytherin(ironically), and I guess it supports 'house unity' or whatever rot it's supposed to be. Just don't date a Gryffindor, and you'll be fine."

"And don't date a Hufflepuff," Dioti added, "Or we'll have to bury your body beneath the Common Room. It'll be years before they find out what happened to you."

They glared at him.

"You think I'm kidding, don't you?" he grinned, and lifted his glass. "Pumpkin juice, anyone?"

* * *

Sypha walked with Albus to Hagrid's hut. The boy was excited again and nearly skipping, but she remained a little wary. As far as she knew, the gigantic professor knew nothing of the little brotherly feud that had been building up over the week – in fact, from what little she saw of him, Sypha questioned whether he knew very much of anything. Still, if the brothers got into a row in front of him, it would look terrible. If Professor Weasley talked to her daughter, maybe it would help a little – but there was no guarantee of that. She kept a watchful eye.

"He's a little clumsy, but he's really nice," the younger boy said to her. Sypha nodded at appropriate moments. "He baked my Dad's cake for his eleventh birthday – did you know the family he was living with never gave him one? Hagrid misspelled everything on the cake, but Dad said it was really sweet. And Dad saved his life the next year, and he says Hagrid repaid it plenty of times – he was there right to the end of the war, too! Even took out Macnair!"

"But what's he been to you?" Sypha asked, a little amused.

"Like a big, hairy uncle," Albus beamed. "He comes over a lot. He's big and intimidating, but Hagrid wouldn't hurt a fly unless he had to."

"You love him," Sypha added. "He's like family to you all – I think you and James will be just fine."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as it got Albus thinking about arguing with his brother, and he became quiet again. This bothered Sypha – if the kid didn't get his mood swings under control eventually, he'd cause a lot more trouble for himself. But then, he had only been away from home a week, and without his older brother for whatever support older brothers give. She was about to say something when they reached the door, and a mastiff started barking loudly enough to make further conversation impossible. A big, wet nose smeared itself on the window, and the dog moved to thump excitedly against the door. It opened a crack, and a large hand grabbed the back of the dog's collar.

"Fang!" Hagrid's voice shouted. "Fang Junior! Sit! Stay! Behave! Bein' a shame to yer old man's memory, y'are. Can't y'see we've got guests?" his head poked out from the doorway and looked at them both. "An' who's this? Ain't she a little old fer yer, Al?" Hagrid added with a wink. Rubeus Hagrid was no less massive with age, although there was a fair amount of gray streaks in his hair and beard. His hut, mostly unchanged in the decades he had been living there, was a complete mess. The dog continued to scratch on the floor, pulling to pounce on Albus and lick him until he got his fair share of attention.

"Yer one o' the new students," Hagrid said to Sypha, gradually letting Fang Jr. greet Albus. "Friend o' Al's?"

"Yes, Professor," She answered, nodding once. "I met all three Potters – erm, two Potters and a Weasley – on the train. The two of us were sorted into the same house, and I think he's a good friend."

"That's right, yer both Slytherin," Hagrid answered, and opened the door wider. "That don' matter! I know Albus, and if yer his friend, that's all I need."

"Yeah, he's a Slytherin!" came James's voice as he and Rose began to walk up to the doorway. "There goes the neighborhood and all that, right?"

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Albus turned and stormed off without a word. James and Rose stood there, and at least James was confused as he remarked,

"What's that all about?"

Rose looked once at Sypha, and immediately ran after Albus. No verbal communication was necessary. The older girl wheeled around on James and said, probably a little harsher than she should have,

"Do you realize what you just did?"

"I heckled my brother," James answered, stepping back from Sypha. "We're siblings, and we tease each other. What's wrong with that?"

Sypha lost her composure. The entire week of Albus-depression, the new workload, today's headache, the visit from that strange owl-thing, and even her inability to get more than three words with Professor Weasley all seemed to build up for a moment, and were now weighted by this – he really had no clue about anything? Her temper went as far as grabbing both of James's shoulders, although she managed to keep her tone at what she thought was a reasonable level.

"Listen to me," she said. "Your brother has been depressed the entire week because of where he was sorted. The one person he should have been able to turn to for help – you – have been mercilessly teasing him!"

"He hasn't talked to Rose." James thought that Sypha was behaving like his aunt at that moment, but decided against saying as much.

"He hasn't had the chance!" she protested. "And that's not what matters. Do you know how many friends he's had since he moved into Slytherin? How many? One! He's a Potter, and most of them are following the Malfoy kid around, mocking him. You really haven't noticed this?"

"Well, I live in Gryffindor Tower, and your common room is somewhere under the lake."

"Our sleeping area is aboveground. And you see Al at meals, between classes, Rose sees him at class, likely at Quidditch practice, and pretty much whenever you want. You haven't checked up on him. You haven't encouraged him. You haven't played with him. Do you always tease him like that?"

"Usually he doesn't mind" said James, and he moved Sypha's hands off his shoulders. She was starting to give him a vice-grip, anyway. "We joke back and forth all the time, and I think I've known him a little longer than you have."

"But you didn't notice how he's been all week?" Sypha folded her arms. "And that thing you did in the Great Hall was rotten."

"That wasn't my fault! Everyone else started cheering!" James protested, but then faltered. "…But I shouldn't have gone along with it. All right, I'll spend more time with my brother."

"And apologize?" she added. James closed his mouth tightly, and seemed to be about to exhibit the Potter penchant for rationalization.

"'E's yer brother!" Hagrid bellowed from the doorway. "Treat 'im like it fer once, and no more arguin'!"

At Hagrid's rebuke, James seemed to look genuinely chastened. He didn't give a verbal apology, but he didn't fight back. Rose began to walk back toward the hut, guiding a morose Albus along. Telling from appearances, there was likely a similar argument between them.

Another period of awkward silence passed, in which Albus looked away from his brother, James stuffed his hands in his pockets and seemed unsure of what to do, Sypha and Rose glanced to each other, Hagrid tapped his foot impatiently, and his dog made another attempt to break free, tackle, and lick everybody. Finally, James approached his brother.

"Al, about last week…"

"What?" Albus asked, turning to him. "What about it?"

"The only one here who would be disowned is Rose, and she got in Gryffindor," James said. Apparently, this passed for an apology, as he extended a hand to his brother. Albus took it, hugged him, and started crying.

On the bright side, tea time at Hagrid's really could only get better from there.


	8. Chapter 7: What Happened on Halloween

**Chapter 7: ****What Happened on Halloween**

The mail came and went, and no owls, dark-feathered or otherwise, came for Sypha Veranades. She hadn't expected anything (If old patterns still held, her first letter from home would come in roughly two more weeks), and was almost relieved enough to forget the other night's incident as a bad dream and nothing more. James and Albus were beginning to talk again, and Sypha had managed to make friends with the Care of Magical Creatures professor. Unfortunately, she wasn't taking his class. But that was how life often went – and besides that, if Scorpius was telling the truth about Hagrid unleashing wild beasts on the students, she thought that perhaps it was better to keep the friendship out of the classroom.

Speaking of the young Mr. Malfoy, there he was, eating breakfast right next to her. Alexander had already left the table, and Lisa was probably going to finish soon – "soon" being a relative term, as the amount of food on her plate was no indication of eating time. She had a tendency to talk more than eat. Sypha felt a slight responsibility to say something to Scorpius about teasing Albus, but it was countered by her desire to see the boy learn to defend himself. That, and it would be much easier to make Alexander talk to the boy for her. Sypha glanced to the young blonde boy again, still in thought when something hit her lightly against the head.

"I'm sorry!" Lisa shouted. "I was aiming for your plate!"

"What happened?" Sypha asked, trying to see what Lisa threw at her this time. It looked like a cookie.

"Peanut butter cookies from home. Want one?" Lisa was holding more in an unwrapped package. "They're my favorite. Mum sends them all the time."

"If you promise not to hit me with them," Sypha chuckled and took another cookie. Her first week at Hogwarts ended well, all things considered.

* * *

Sypha shuffled into the potions dungeon for one of the classes she did not share with Lisa Pringle and Alexander Dioti, as they were in Arithmancy during that period. Under reflection, if she had grown up with them all six years in school, her classes would probably have been synchronized with theirs, too. As it was, Hufflepuff greatly outnumbered Slytherin in the Potions class, probably due to the fact that their Head of House taught it. Because of Professor Merrythought, the dungeon really couldn't be properly called a "dungeon" anymore. It was decorated with potions ingredients (the dangerous or unsightly ingredients were conspicuously absent), bubbling cauldrons and vials, and more than a few potted plants. She seemed to have placed color in random places in the room, likely in an attempt to repair the class's reputation somewhat. Although there was an even number of students from both houses in the sixth-year class, there was an odd number within each house. Professor Merrythought had been forced to create an odd inter-house pairing each class in the hopes that a Hufflepuff and Slytherin student could work together, but so far as the beginning of week two of classes, nothing had happened except for several arguments, a few explosions, and one case of boils. The professor was there today, and had already drawn two names from her hat before everyone assembled. 

"Today's little 'experiment group,'" she announced, "will consist of Veranades, Sypha G., and Lane, Louis L." Mathilda Merrythought was a large woman, in height as well as girth, but her overly-cheerful demeanor helped offset her intimidating appearance. "Everyone else, please seat yourselves as you normally do and open your textbooks."

As Sypha moved behind one of the desks and began to set up her equipment, she was joined by a familiar student.

"Hi, Sypha," Louie said. "Where are your friends?"

"Arithnomancy," she answered, looking up to his face. "I see your hair's still blue."

"They said I've gotta wait until it wears off. I guess I should dye my hair, shouldn't I? What do you think of Hufflepuff colors?"

"You'd look like a bumblebee." She smiled. "Just stick with blue for now."

"That's a great idea!" he answered, which was loud enough to earn a warning glare from Merrythought.

"Come now, we can all talk as much as we want when we've started mixing. Now, page 287, Draught of Living Death. This potion is very, very difficult to make, and I can guarantee not many of you will be able to make a serviceable one yet. So, let's just have fun and try to learn from our mistakes, okay?"

They took the professor's advice, and held off further conversation until brewing time began.

"What's the G stand for?" Louie asked, tossing a few ingredients into his cauldron. He didn't show enough attention to detail – Potions was not his best subject, not by a long shot.

"Grace," Sypha carefully added a few herbs to her concoction – she was much better at this field than many of her other classes, but still had the idea that the draught might not turn out correctly. "What does the L stand for in your name?"

"Lex," Louie asked, beginning to stir. Some liquid slopped out of his cauldron and sizzled on the desk, but he kept working.

"Louis Lex Lane?" Sypha looked up from her work. "That sounds like a really bad pun."

"I know, I think it's some kind of Muggle joke," Louie said, and bent over his cauldron. The liquid was doing something strange. It was very strange indeed, as the concoction exploded a moment later.

Although there was plenty of chaos, it was short-lived. Professor Merrythought, well-versed in handling potions accidents, cleared away the greenish-yellow smoke before it could pose too much of a threat. The two students closest to the explosion appeared to be in decent shape, despite the heavy coughing.

"Now," she said, "This is why concentration is important. Utterly important! Are you two dears all right? You weren't disagreeing over what ingredients to use, where you?" She cast a sympathetic look to Louie, who was from her house, and an entirely different glance toward the Slytherin girl next to him.

"No, we just got distracted," Louie admitted. "I'm sorry. Are we going to need to go to Pomfrey's for this?" Despite the abuse it had just undergone, Louie's cauldron was still in relatively good shape. His robes were stained in multiple colors, and when combined with his hair almost suggested some sort of new counterculture. Either that, or a clown blew up. Sypha was unaffected.

"No, no, you'll be all right, dear," the professor said, and looked at Sypha again. "But you seem to have escaped unscathed."

"I think Louie formed a natural shield." Sypha felt smaller now – surrounded by two rather tall people. "It's okay, I'll help clean up."

Merrythought nodded once, and then addressed the entire class. "You see, everyone, what a brief moment of inattentiveness can do? What you saw here was the result of one incorrectly-sliced root. One small misstep can cost you the potion. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves, but please keep your eyes focused on your cauldron at all times! You may return to your brewing now, please." She stepped away, and Sypha and Louie began to try to prepare the draught again.

"I'm really sorry about this," Louie said, seeming to shrink from within his newly-colored school robes. "Usually my potions just fizzle. They don't explode."

Sypha chuckled under her breath, and tried to sound reassuring. "That's usually what I say."

"Why? Your potions are turning out good, and I'm sorry you have to start all over again because of it."

"My potions turn out well because it's one of the few things I know I can do around here," she answered. "You should see me in Charms. You won't, because it's with the Ravenclaws, but – here, you need to cut that into finer slices. Like this."

Louie thanked Sypha, and followed her lead for the rest of the class period. Surprisingly, nothing else went horribly wrong, although cleaning the mess afterward took a terrible amount of time. Professor Merrythought sat behind her desk, periodically looking up from her next class's notes to check on their progress.

"Look, Sypha, you don't have to stay and do this," Louie rolled up his sleeves and started scrubbing at the desk.

"Nonsense," she answered, ducking under her chair to clean up some of the mess that had splattered all the way down there. "I can fit in places you can't."

"I still feel bad about it."

"The best way to make things better," Sypha said, moving out from under the chair, "is to see what went wrong this time, and try not to repeat it. Does that help?"

"I get confused on potions," he said. "Get mixed up somewhere in the ingredients, or measuring something, or stirring, or something like that. It's not like Quidditch." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And I know it looks bad for poor Professor Merrythought. I'm from her house, and I don't know how I'm gonna do in her own class."

"Would you like some help?" Sypha asked, and sighed. For a Slytherin, it really seemed that she had been volunteering herself out to everybody lately.

"You mean you would? You really would?" he asked. "Thank you! Can I pay you back somehow? Make you good at flying, or something?"

"No, you don't need to," she answered, brushing floor-dirt from her robes. "If you don't cause any havoc in class, that's payment enough."

"How is the cleaning coming along?" Merrythought asked, adjusting her reading glasses as she looked up.

"Excellent!" Louie answered, beaming like a puppy with an extra-large bone. "Should be done in a second, easily!"

Sypha looked down to the desk, and began working on the mess there. A dark spot smeared, forming an uneven, wavy V-shape that almost resembled a bird in flight. It struck a very recent memory, and she spoke to the teacher.

"Professor Merrythought?"

"Yes, dearie?" Merrythought responded.

"I guess you're not the one to ask about this," Sypha said, "But about the school owls, are any of them black? I mean, really black? Like a raven, kind of?"

The professor looked at her oddly. "I don't think so. Some of them are a little darker than others, I guess. Do you have a peculiar preference, Miss Veranades?"

"No," she shook her head. "I'm just curious. An owl woke me up tapping at the window the other night. It was really dark, but I guess it kind of startled me a bit. It didn't have a message or anything." She neglected to mention the red eyes, still holding out some hope that she had imagined that specific detail because it was late.

"Very curious," Merrythought said. "Perhaps the poor little thing had gotten lost, and was trying to find its way. But don't the Slytherins live in the dungeon below here?"

"The common room is underground," Sypha answered. "Our dormitory is a little higher. We've got ground floor windows. Thanks, though."

"You can always check the Owlery to see if it's one of the school owls or if it belongs to one of the students here." Professor Merrythought tapped her quill against the edge of her paperwork. "I imagine it wasn't wild. Very peculiar, though. Very peculiar." With that, she returned to her reading.

"An owl scared you?" Louie asked, beginning to rub harder at a particularly stubborn spot.

"It was a weird owl," Sypha explained, lifting her cauldron to clean underneath it. "I can't really explain. I think I'll check the owlery after we're done here."

"Can I come with you?" Once again, Louie Lane had begun to resemble a puppy.

"Sure, sure."

* * *

As she climbed the stairs to the Owlery, Sypha did not envy the Gryffindors with their tower. 

"I guess it's just a matter of curiosity, that's all," she said to Louie. "I mean, it woke me up tapping on the window, and sometimes things like that can freak you out, you know?"

"Like mistaking a coat rack for a monster, right?' Louie asked, climbing up after her. "I used to do that a lot when I was a kid. Except then, I'd attack it. Really annoyed my parents."

"I'd imagine," she answered, and stepped into the owlery, the doorway of which was marked by the distinct scent of bird droppings. At first, she felt overwhelmed at the sheer number of birds in there, most on ledges leading up to the ceiling. A few flew into the building or out of it, some carrying messages. A snowy white owl swooped in and onto its nest, a mouse caught between its beak.

"Solomon would go crazy here," Sypha commented, walking around the room as she gazed at the animals. Some were gray, some were dark brown, and she supposed that without a good light source she could have mistaken some of them for black. A little voice chimed inside her head that no, she knew the color, and it wasn't gray or brown.

"Do you see anything?" Louie asked, putting his hands in his pockets. "They all look pretty light to me."

"Ummmmm…" She turned around again, taking in the different feathered animals in the building. One of the dark gray owls turned its head toward her, and she saw that its eyes were a deep, rich amber color. Perhaps a trick of the lighting or lack thereof combined with her half-asleep state could've…

_It's the wrong shape. The black owl looked different than that, and its eyes really were red._

Sypha banished that thought from her mind by saying, "I think maybe it was this one" and smiling. She didn't want to keep thinking about the owl. Her mind might start to travel down less-desirable paths, such as whether or not that was really an owl, and why it would have come to visit her.

"Yeah, I think this might be it. Is probably it. Sure." She turned around to Louie and smiled. "Let's go back downstairs now. I want to see what Albus is up to, and you've got to practice for the Quidditch trials."

"Sure thing! When can we meet about Potions?"

"Anytime, just meet me in the library." Sypha answered, and smiled again. She put all thoughts of the owl out of her mind, and considered the odd fact that she seemed to be collecting people from different houses. Now she just needed to find an insecure Ravenclaw to counsel.

* * *

The next several weeks passed without major incident. Sypha's grades were generally decent, although her performance in Charms and Transfiguration had begun to become somewhat erratic. It was nowhere near what often went wrong in salem, but did bear a few similarities. She was genuinely suffering in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Although nobody had yet to produce an actual Patronus, they were beginning to come close. Often she found herself distracted, unable to focus, or overly tired. Once recently she felt slightly nauseous during class, and decided to eat less at breakfast the next day. Herbology had been going well, and Professor Longbottom volunteered to help Sypha with her Defense work. Albus and James continued to get along better over time, and Sypha enjoyed Rose's company when neither of them had to behave like a babysitter. Louie had easily regained his spot on the Quidditch team, and his potions work had seen a marked improvement since Sypha began to help him. His hair was still blue, however. Scorpius still teased Albus, and Alexander refused to take sides on the issue. He, Lisa, and Sypha had formed and maintained a good friendship, although he often added little jibes about how she seemed to be spreading herself around all of the houses. 

Because of Rose and the boys, Sypha had finally managed to speak with Professor Weasley on a few occasions, and was reasonably familiar with her outside of class. Hermione had remarked that she may be late for a few upcoming classes, as she predicted that one of the legendary Auror Harry Potter's cases would break soon, and she'd have a very public trial to adjudicate. If things got too busy, a substitute would teach in her stead.

The school was busy in preparation for Halloween, and Sypha had not been invited back to the Slug Club. She didn't mind this too much, despite the occasional snide remarks from Serenity when she saw her in Defense or between classes. If she wanted to go back, she could always ask someone to invite her at Christmas if she really wanted to go again, anyway. There was a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, and she remembered Professor Eytinge's offer for tea – although he had also offered the same to Professors Weasley, Longbottom, Slughorn, and "Harry Potter, if you can invite him here." She could wait. Socializing with all of these teachers felt somewhat odd, although it was welcoming to see how much the Hogwarts faculty truly cared about their students.

"Heading to Defense?" Longbottom asked Sypha as students filed out of the greenhouse.

"Yes," Sypha nodded, taking off her gloves and settling them on the pile. She had a slight bit of trouble with the Snargaluffs this time, and had a fair amount of greenish sap staining her robes. "Thanks again for the help."

"You'll do fine," he said. "Just remember what we talked about. I know you're behind the class right now, but it's like a chain reaction. Once everybody else starts producing Patronuses, it'll be easy to follow right along. Keep your happy thought in mind."

"Thanks," she smiled. "Thank you, sir. Professor Weasley thinks that we should start mastering it any day now."

"She's an excellent woman," Neville said. "And Happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween to you, too," a second nod, and Sypha walked off to join the rest of her class. It was raining hard outside, nearly storming, and the sky was nearly dark because of the clouds. She thought that it was rather dreary weather in which to practice "happy thoughts." She ran to catch up with Lisa and Alexander, passing serenity on the way.

"What do you think?" Lisa asked. "Do you think we'll get it today?"

"Yeah," Sypha nodded. "At least I hoped so. You're a happy person, Lisa – maybe you'll figure it out."

"I think I know who won't," Alexander Dioti said, and pointed. A tall, French Ravenclaw student was marching through the rain, grumbling to herself. "With a mood like that, I think happy memories are the last thing on her mind."

The others shook their heads, and said nothing about Serenity. She did not look very serene, after all, and earning her ire would certainly make it harder to concentrate in class.

The room itself was warm and inviting in comparison to the nasty weather outdoors. Slytherin and Ravenclaw students entered and sat behind their desks, waiting for the professor to arrive.

"She's late again," Alexander said. "Typical for a Weasley." He winked to Sypha when he said this, so she only elbowed him lightly.

"I meant typical for a Gryffindor!" he amended. This earned a harsh look, but she didn't hit him. "Think about it this way. She could be Hufflepuff. Then she'd never get here."

"Ravenclaw would be here early," Sypha added, joking with them. "But she'd start lecturing before the students arrived, and demand to see our notes."

"You mean Professor Binns?" Lisa asked, and fluttered her eyelashes innocently.

"Typical Slytherins!" Serenity muttered as she passed by, giving a toss of her hair that nearly drenched all three of them with rainwater. "Always mocking others without anything to offer, yourselves."

"And one of the Potters," Alexander added. "You forgot that we got one of them."

"So you're bragging about it now?" Sypha asked when Serenity had left to find a seat.

"You take what you can get," Dioti said. "And one's better than none, right?"

"You still haven't told Malfoy to lay off him," she said.

"The kid'll learn to stick up for himself, and they'll be fine," Alexander answered. "Don't worry about it."

At that moment the door slammed open and Hermione Weasley entered. She was sopping wet and muddy, still wearing her coat, and very obviously flustered. She set her bag on the desk and waved to the students, indicating that they should stand. It was evidently going to be another practice session, not necessarily a lecture.

"I'm sorry, everyone," Professor Weasley said. "I would have been on time, but the door was shut, and it took some time to get in. And then I tripped and fell in the mud – it almost felt like I was knocked down. The weather is really terrible today, isn't it?"

The students nodded in agreement, and moved to the front of the room. The professor waved her wand a few times, and the desks and chairs neatly stacked themselves against the wall.

"Everyone, please begin to practice as usual," Hermione said, taking off her coat and using her wand to siphon off some of the mud and water. "The lecture will begin once I have determined what aspects of the spell you need to learn most."

The students formed lines around the room, held their wands in the practiced position, and began. Just as before, the results were meager – a spark or a wisp here and there but nothing lasting. Sypha practiced as well, continuing her earlier pattern of producing absolutely nothing, no matter what memory she focused on. Did she not have a happy enough life? Was she not concentrating on the right things? Were her wand movements off? Did all of this self-analysis and rumination ruin it? Also, she was beginning to feel another headache – likely a result of stress, the weather, and hard work. And the sudden (but very light) nausea was probably due to what she ate for breakfast and the trouble with Snargaluffs earlier.

"Look!" a Ravenclaw student shouted. "Professor Weasley! Look! Look!" A small wisp of silver extended from his wand, reaching out like a tendril before beginning to dissipate. Hermione jumped to her feet and moved forward, seeing the student's progress.

"Very good, Felix. Do you see this, everyone?" There was mild applause from the class at this new accomplishment. "I want everyone to think about this – get into the spirit! Combine your happy memories with thoughts of success!"

Now encouraged by what had just happened, the other students began to practice even more fervently. Sypha still felt slightly ill, in fact a little more than before. She thought it unfortunate that she felt awful today, of all days. There was another glimmer of silver light as one of the Slytherins began to create an incorporeal Patronus for the first time.

"That's the spirit!" Professor Weasley cheered them on, moving among the rows of students, adjusting wands and posture here and there. "Ignore the weather outside – in fact, use your Patronuses against it. Pretend that you are driving way the rain!"

The spirit of the room lifted even further, and just as Longbottom had said, it was like a chain reaction. It seemed as though everyone was suddenly creating silver lights left and right, some of which nearly even took shape. Sypha still had nothing, and now her head and stomach began to feel worse. She didn't connect it at all with what was going on in the classroom now or the previous time, and she was in fact beginning to feel greatly frustrated. Was she coming down with something? Getting sick? Why now? Why on a holiday, and why exactly when the rest of the class is succeeding so much? Couldn't it wait for a normal, ordinary day?

"Good job!" The professor said nearby. Alexander Dioti had produced a particularly impressive stream of light, which moved slightly on its own, moving around Sypha and nearly touching Lisa. Sypha stumbled, her head throbbing harder, and felt a pair of hands steadying her.

"Careful, now," Professor Weasley said. "You're supposed to be thinking happy thoughts, not performing gymnastics. Are you all right, Sypha?"

"I'm fine," she lied, and put on a reasonably convincing smile. Talking in an even tone took some effort, and even more was needed to stand and lift her want properly. "I'll just keep trying."

Hermione nodded and walked on, adjusting Lisa's wand a little before moving to the other students. Another girl's Patronus formed a visible shape this time, possibly some sort of bird. Sypha's stomach turned over on itself, and she felt bile tickle the back of her throat. She pressed on, now wondering what it was she ate that could have caused this.

She barely heard the students' applause through the sudden, fierce pounding in her head. Sypha stopped wondering if she had eaten something bad, and most of her thoughts even as she did the motion for the spell was that she would see Madame Pomfrey when this was over. Then even that thought disappeared, replaced only with the desire to stay standing, to keep the wand up, to look normal until everything is over.

Lisa Pringle at that moment became the first person to fully cast a successful Patronus. The spell appeared in the shape of a silver horse. It was beautiful, glowing, glimmering, gracefully prancing across the classroom. Sypha shut her eyes hard as her head pounded in agony, trying to focus, trying to figure out what was happening to her. Her stomach felt turned inside-out, and although she no longer felt the need to vomit, she could barely think through the pain. Sypha's head swam even more, and the room seemed to spin even with her eyes closed. She bumped into Alexander, nearly knocking him over. She opened her eyes again when she hit him, still trying to steady herself.

He grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. "Sypha? Are you all right?" he asked.

"Sypha?" Lisa dropped her Patronus immediately, running to her friend. It was only later that she would connect this with the girl's bad headache in the first week of classes.

"Sypha?"

"What's happening here?" Professor Weasley asked, seeing that something had gone wrong. "Sypha? Are you okay? Miss Veranades!"

Sypha barely heard them. Her sense of the outside world wavered, and her vision began to black out. Sypha's wand fell, clattering on the ground. She landed beside it a moment after.


	9. Chapter 8: A Day at Pomfrey's

**Chapter Eight: ****A Day at Pomfrey's**

The darkness swirled around her, roiling, tossing her to and fro in a sea of chaos. Black shapes moved through her line of vision, dark cloaks, shadowy monsters, images drawn from her deepest nightmares, all forming a circle around a great black door. Sypha felt herself drawn to it, moving steadily closer past the layers of apparitions surrounding it. It called voicelessly to her, pulling her nearer and nearer. A black owl, now familiar, swooped in front of Sypha and spoke.

"Hold on, I think she's coming to," it said in what distinctly sounded like Professor Weasley's voice.

"Stop crowding around! Give her some space," it spoke again, sounding just like Madame Pomfrey.

"SYPHA! Can you hear me?" That was Lisa. Most definitely Lisa. "Merlin's pants, I think I killed her! It wasn't me, was it? I thought the Patronus was supposed to help people, not hurt them!"

There was no owl, just the Hogwarts infirmary. In the movies, people always come to in the hospital surrounded by friends and loved ones. When Sypha woke up, the only people nearby were the professor, the nurse, Lisa Pringle, and a tall redheaded man. The other concerned parties simply weren't in the room at that moment, for whatever reason.

"We haven't determined that it was the Patronus that did that," Hermione Weasley told Lisa. "She could have been ill, or God forbid hexed or cursed. Madame Pomfrey, can you tell me if – oh! Sypha, dear, are you all right?"

Sypha made a noise that sounded remarkably like "Beh," swallowed, and then spoke more clearly. "What happened?" It honestly felt as though somebody had driven a few nails in her head, decided that they were misplaced, and yanked them out again with a claw hammer. The pain was fading, though, more the remnants of what she felt earlier than the actual condition.

"Well, we're not sure," the professor stated, returning to a seat by the infirmary bed.

"You conked out in class, that's what!" Lisa interrupted. "I did my Patronus – a real Patronus – and you fell over like it was killing you. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Sypha?"

Sypha opened her mouth to talk, but then noticed a few things. The professor looked drawn, tired, and slightly unkempt. Lisa seemed slightly disheveled. There was no light coming in from the windows.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Three in the morning, and long past time for these truants to be in bed," Pomfrey stated in a why-don't-people-ever-listen tone. "I told them that you need peace and space to recover."

"Yeah, just about everybody went to bed," Lisa added. "Except Al didn't want to go. I got that Louie guy to carry him off, and James took him back to Gryffindor from there."

"You didn't have to stay up," she said, but was touched nonetheless. "Professor? I'm so sorry – is this ruining your day? What about your family?"

"The kids are with Harry," she answered, "And my husband came here the moment he got word that I'd be late. It's no trouble, I want to look after my students – especially the ones who collapse in my class."

All at once Sypha realized who the other man was in the room, and felt somewhat embarrassed. "Is that…"

"Ronald B. Weasley, Hero of the Wizarding War, Auror, part-owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, friend of Harry Potter, blah-blah-de-blah, at your service," the man said, finally approaching the bed. "So, you're the Slytherin what's been chumming with my daughter and forcing my wife to stay late at work, are you?" Despite that, he was grinning, and seemed friendly enough.

"I'm sorry for the trouble, sir," She said, trying and failing to look dignified in the presence of another genuine wizarding hero. She really had been running into too many of them lately. The school probably had them stacked in crates in one of the closets somewhere.

"No trouble," he said, and poured a glass of water from a pitcher. "Here, have some water." He handed her the cup. "Rose and the brothers have all said some really good things about you. Hermione says you're a friendly student, if not the brightest. All I've seen of you has looked pretty comatose and half-dead, really."

Sypha nodded as she drank, and then set the glass down. "Usually I'm asleep this time of day, anyway. It's… nice to meet you? Mr. Weasley?"

"Very nice to meet you," he nodded.

Lisa moved forward and actually hugged her. "Sypha, I'm so glad you're all right. I'm sorry if this was anything I did, I really am!"

"Now, now, don't jump to conclusions," Hermione said, standing alongside her husband. "We'll find out what happened. I've never heard of a Patronus affecting anybody that way before."

"You're not secretly a Dementor, are you?" Ron asked. "After all, Constant Vigilance!"

"Ron!" Hermione elbowed him. "Be nice. This girl's been unconscious for nearly the whole day."

"And it's time she got some genuine rest, if you don't mind," Pomfrey added, beginning to move between Sypha and the other people. She looked about ready to pry Lisa off her. "I assure you, she'll survive the night in my care. Honestly, you people – none of you ever change!"

"Good night, Sypha," Lisa said, moving back. "See you tomorrow?"

"We need to go home," Hermione said, and Ron agreed. "I'm glad to see that you're still in one piece. We'll get to the bottom of this, don't worry."

Sypha smiled. "Be seeing you," she said.

* * *

As it was Saturday, Sypha slept in. Madame Pomfrey would probably try to keep her, anyway. The last vestiges of her earlier sickness seemed to melt away as she slept, freeing her into a peaceful night. She only awoke sometime near noon because people were talking.

"Not so loud!" a voice that was unmistakably Professor Longbottom's said, "You'll wake her."

"Why should we worry? At this rate, she will miss lunch!" That one was Professor Eytinge. "I think we should determine what this was, and be done with it."

"Let's wait for Mrs. Weasley," Flitwick said. How many faculty members were here? Hagrid? Slughorn?

"We do not have time for Hermione," Eytinge said. "I understand it happened in her class, but I think that we should do this now. Dispense with the dilly-dallying."

Sypha kept her eyes closed. She wanted to find out what they were talking about, and whether it was as painful as it sounded.

"But we don't want to hurt her," Longbottom protested. "Or make her sick for the rest of the weekend."

"Better than killing her in class during the week," the German responded. "It is simple. One-two, done. No hassle, no fuss."

"Teachers are not supposed to physically harm their students," Longbottom said. "There's sort of a precedent for this kind of thing."

"We're not harming her, we are keeping her from harm!" Eytinge said again. "She would not be hurt here."

"Leo, I agree. Let's show some restraint." Merrythought. Apparently, this was significant enough for all four heads of houses to arrive.

"What's going on?" Sypha asked, sitting up. She began to open her eyes, found them fogged with sleep-blur, and rubbed at them. "What are you talking about?" There were four professors standing near her bed. Madame Pomfrey was further back in the infirmary, attending to something else.

Professor Longbottom took a step forward, addressing the girl first. "Miss Veranades," he began, "I really don't want to make this sound worse than it probably is, and I'm sure you're all right, but because of the timing of your… um, your collapse – how are you feeling, by the way? – some concerns have been, well, raised that perhaps it was because of the Pa–"

"Very simple. _Expecto Patronum!_" Eytinge interrupted, thrusting his wand in front of him. A large silver shape like an owl shot forward into Sypha's face.

"Ack!" she shouted, falling back onto the bed hard enough to almost be thrown. "Gah! Stop it! Ow!" she sputtered, shielding her face with her arms. "What are you doing?"

"Well, that settles that!" Eytinge declared, and his Patronus disappeared. "Very simple, and answers our question."

Sypha opened her eyes again, and looked just in time to see Madame Pomfrey slap him very hard.

"Do NOT do that to the students!" she shouted, and Eytinge shrank back. A harsh word from Pomfrey was usually more than enough to put the fear of God into someone, and she did not need to say anything more. Not that she refrained from continuing to speak her mind, of course. "Time after time I have to tell children not to roughhouse in here, not to disturb sleeping patients, not to put any stress on people… and what do you do? What do the teachers do? You throw harmful spells at my children, just to 'see if it hurts?' That's the most reckless, dangerous, and idiotic thing I have ever heard of!"

Neville Longbottom sidestepped the chaos, and leaned over Sypha.

"I'm sorry about that, Sypha. How are you feeling?"

She smiled. "Horrible, but I'm all right. I look like a mess, don't I?"

"You look like you spent the night in the hospital wing, and that one of your professors assaulted you immediately after. Do you think you'll be all right?"

Sypha nodded. "My head's clearing up already, even after what just happened. I'm fine, thanks."

The professor nodded, and turned back toward the escalating argument between professor and nurse. Sypha realized that Longbottom hadn't said a word about Patronuses to her when he asked how she felt, but she didn't think much about it. The situation was already unusual and stressful enough as it was. Pomfrey continued to berate Eytinge until Flitwick distracted her, saying a few soothing words and leading her away. Merrythought joined him in calming the nurse, and Professor Eytinge slinked back toward Sypha, clasping his hands together before he spoke.

"I am indeed sorry for causing you harm," the professor said. "You are not hurt very much, I trust?"

"I hope not, sir," she answered, trying to sit up again. "I just… I just don't understand it, you know? Do people usually get hurt by that spell? I've never seen it listed as a dangerous charm, or anything."

She ran her fingers through her hair, and shook her head. "Really," Sypha said, and spoke more loudly. "You've all obviously been talking about this, but do any of you actually know why the Patronus spell could've hurt me like that? Can anyone help me? Anybody?"

The others turned, and in that moment of silence Sypha saw something very confusing and disheartening. Professor Flitwick slowly shook his head, followed by Merrythought. Longbottom looked to his feet for a few seconds before muttering something like "no," and Eytinge simply turned away, looking like a confused and troubled puppy. Madame Pomfrey approached Sypha, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I've never treated anybody who's allergic to the Patronus charm, Miss Veranades," she said in a soothing tone. "But you know, the more we discover about magic, the more it can confuse us sometimes. Perhaps it's nothing, but I would like to keep you for the rest of the day. Maybe you're sick and the Patronus energy simply exasperated it… or maybe not. Don't worry yourself, and get some rest. I would appreciate if you could do that for me."

Sypha smiled, and almost hugged the woman.

"If you are well enough to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow," Professor Eytinge interjected, "then I will take up my offer to treat you to tea. I would have a word with you."

Sypha answered with a small nod, not thinking about it very much. "Thank you, everyone," she said. "But I really feel kind of embarrassed right now, and I'd at least like some time to clean up."

"And you will have it," answered Longbottom." Come on now, let's give her some time to herself before her friends arrive to check on her."

The professors left, and Sypha relaxed. Really, shoving a Patronus in somebody's face – what had he been thinking?

* * *

"Oof!" Sypha said when the newspaper landed on her lap. She had gotten some rest that day, even though the steady trickle of friends had begun. Alexander sent her a few flowers, Louie had brought in a bouquet that she suspected came from the greenhouses (and he hadn't left yet), and Lisa had brought more of her great-grandather's tea, which was quite nice. The newspaper was Albus and co.'s contribution.

"Look, Sypha! Look!" Albus said, so excited that he was nearly jumping on her. "Look at the front page!"

She glanced to James and Rose (and Lisa and Louie), and opened _The Daily Prophet_, looking at the front page.

_POTTER NABS __SO-CALLED__ "ICE-CREAM KILLER"_

_The Wizarding World had reason to celebrate today as Ignatius MacLeary, better-known as the "Ice Cream Man" was brought to justice by a team of aurors led by none other than Harry Potter, head of the Auror Department. Potter first made a name for himself in the Second Wizarding War against the Death Eaters, in which he vanquished He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. He quickly rose through the ministry ranks, soon to become the youngest wizard ever to attain his current position in charge of the Ministry Aurors. MacLeary, whose reign of terror went on for six months before his arrest, was known as the "Ice Cream Man" because of his unique catchphrase, in which he compared his wand to a scoop. As silly as this may seem, he was quite proficient with _Defodio_, the Gouging Spell.__ "Real grisly work," one of Potter's associates said on the scene, "but we're glad we got him, anyway." Harry Potter is also known for his __excellent__ work in the __Goblin and House Elf Legislation controversies, as well as the Lurinthoon Case, in which he__ (cont. ICE CREAM, p. 8)_

"Oh, that's great news!" she said after taking some time to read and digest the article. "This is the case Professor Weasley – er, your mom – aunt, Albus – keeps telling us about, is that right? The one she said she might have to hire a substitute for?"

"That's right, that's my mum!" Rose Weasley said. "Isn't that great, Sypha? It happened really early this morning, and they had just enough time to put it in print!"

"That means your parents came to see me last night… right before they went and fought this guy with Mr. Potter? Harry Potter?" Sypha shrank back in the hospital bed.

"Mm-hm!" Albus said. "And Dad did really well, too! Dueled him one-on-one, and everything! MacLeary was a really bad guy, my Dad says, and he'll probably get life in Azkaban for the stuff he's done. That's where Aunt Hermione's gonna come in, for the trial."

"That's pretty good," Lisa leaned forward in her chair, looking toward Albus. "It really is. I remember reading about MacLeary in the _Prophet_ lately, and he gave me the chills. Why do people do that?"

James shrugged and took a step forward, taking the newspaper back. "Dad always said it's been that way because lots of people want to be just like Voldemort. It's the notoriety, or something – Dad said it's like everyone's trying to be the next Dark Lord, but none of them can really measure up. They're not evil enough, and they haven't got the nerve to do the terrible things Voldemort did. So, they just brag and mess around and try to be as evil as they can, but it never comes to anything."

"Then what?" Lisa asked. "I suppose you're telling me that because your dad dealt with Voldemort, none of these guys matter?"

"That's right."

"But McLeary is still a murderer, and this doesn't change that!"

Sypha, noticing Lisa's obvious shift in mood, decided to intervene.

"Maybe what he means is that it isn't as exciting as it used to be, but that doesn't mean it's less important." She offered, leaning a little toward the two. "So there's nothing to argue about."

"I guess," Lisa muttered, but her mood melted away. "Your father did a pretty good job."

"Even though he's a Gryffindor?" James grinned.

"Don't press it," Lisa said.

Sypha changed the subject. "Madame Pomfrey is going to let me out tomorrow if nothing goes wrong," she said. "Isn't tomorrow Hogsmeade?"

"That's right!" Albus suddenly perked up. "And we have to take you to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to see Uncle George!"

"I'm sure there are a lot of places to go," Sypha said, although her heart skipped a beat at the possibility of meeting George Weasley – not only was he a war hero, but his products supplied school life in Salem.

"Honeydukes," Lisa interjected. "It's fuel for people like us, we'll have to stop there. And Sypha, you could use a trip to Gladrags, but under supervision. Only a friend would say that."

"That's… uh, nice," Sypha said. "Is there anywhere you'd like to go?" she asked Louie, who hadn't said much of anything the entire afternoon.

"Huh? Wha?" he looked up. "Sorry, wasn't thinking. What?"

"Where would you like to go in Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Sypha repeated.

"Oh," Louie smoothed his blue hair with one hand. "Well, uh… sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Well, I'd like to check the Quidditch supplies, but I don't know if you want to go, or anything."

"I was thinking all of us could go as a group," she said. "I don't think we'd be bored."

"That's great!" Albus said, evidently pleased with the idea.

"All we need is a Ravenclaw, and our collection's complete," Lisa said under her breath. "That Serenity girl's probably got half the school convinced that you're a Dementor in disguise. Why don't we invite her, too?"

"No." Sypha said emphatically.

"Change of subject," James said. "I heard you got a visit from some teachers. What was that all about?"

"They talked about trying not to hurt me, and Professor Eytinge shoved a Patronus in my face. Then he invited me to tea."

"Maybe it's a Durmstrang thing," James suggested. "Aggravate somebody's injury, then ask them out. Just how old is he, anyway? Forty? Isn't that a little too old for you?"

She blushed. "James, that's not appropriate."

"She's right, it's not appropriate!" Louie interrupted.

"I wasn't the one inviting you to… say, would that have anything to do with why you want us all wandering around Hogsmeade in a big group, would it?"

"Well, you know, I just think that anything he can say to me, he can say with the rest of you around. It's not like I wouldn't tell you, right?"

"And you're a little sore about the Patronus."

"Well, how would you feel if somebody shoved a big, glowing owl right in your face to see if it hurt?"

"Did it?' James asked. Sypha nodded in response. He continued, "Well, I guess he saved Pomfrey lots of time and testing, didn't he?"

"But what if it did more damage than that, James?" Lisa asked. "What if it really hurt Sypha? She didn't just have a minor case of the vapors in class, you know."

James did not have an answer to that, so Sypha began to talk again.

"He said he knew my aunt from school. Maybe that's just what he wants to do. Reconnect with an old friend."

"An old, unmarried friend of the same age," James interjected. "Imagine that."

"Let's think about something else," Sypha said. "Why don't we change the subject again? We've been doing that a lot today."

"You really got visited by all the House heads?' Louie asked Sypha. "Was Professor Slughorn there, too?"

"No," Sypha answered him. "I haven't seen him in a while, really."

"It's his health," Lisa said. "He's old, and I think he's going to retire soon. Maybe next year."

"Really?" Sypha asked. "I wonder who would replace him."

"Flitwick!" both Albus and James said in unison. Albus continued. "Dad says that he was supposed to get the position first anyway, but the Ministry people weren't too keen on a half-goblin headmaster, so they drafted Slughorn. He says that Slughorn appointed Flitwick as Deputy head immediately, and already promised to appoint him when he retires."

"That's so generous for a Slytherin, it's almost out of character." James said. When Lisa almost tried to hit him, and likely would have gotten help from the other two Slytherins in the room, he appended, "I meant for the older generation. Present company excepted."

Rose, who had been silent through much of the conversation, burst into giggles.

"Don't make it worse!" James protested, but Albus had joined in by that time. "you know what I mean, you all do!"

"Keep digging," Sypha said, and took the newspaper back from him. "You're almost deep enough to bury yourself."

James apparently didn't heed her advice. "I'm not saying that all Slytherins are bad, really. It's just that, well, they're all rotten."

"And 'they' outnumber you three to two," Sypha said. "Could be four if Louie sides with me. Louie?"

"I don't have my Beater's bat," Louie answered. "I can go get it."

James threw his hands into the air, and fell to his knees in an exaggerated display of theatrics. "Please, please, I beg of you! Spare me!"

"Nope," answered Sypha. "We're Slytherin. Gonna have to kill you. Al, do you have any last words for your brother?"

Albus leaned forward, grinned, and softly whispered, "I'm getting your room."

James laughed and shoved him, and the two boys began a wrestling match in the infirmary. Rose scampered out of the way and banged against Sypha's cot, nearly moving it across the floor.

"Children!" came Madame Pomfrey's voice from across the room. "No roughhousing in here. People are trying to recover."

"We're just having a little fun," James answered her. "Laughter is the best medicine, you know."

"I can always tell your father how you've been behaving," Pomfrey stated in no uncertain terms, and both boys settled down immediately.

"Hogsmeade tomorrow, then," Sypha said, still laughing. "We're going to have fun."

"Hogsmeade tomorrow," Lisa agreed. "We'll do the candy shop, and then Gladrags. I'm going to make you look good, Sypha."

"Joke shop first!" Albus protested. "You've gotta meet our uncle. Please?"

"Do you have an opinion, Louie?' Sypha asked. He jumped. "I'm just bringing you into the decision-making process."

"I guess I could do either," he answered. "But I'd like to meet George Weasley first. I think I need a few things for Potions class."

"Not while I'm your partner," Sypha warned.

Louie grinned. "They're for someone else's cauldron," he said. "We Hufflepuffs are often up to no good."

"It's that Slytherin influence," Sypha said. "You spend entirely too much time around me." She smiled again. "By the way, where's Alex?"

"His mum came in to see him today," Lisa answered. "She heard about what happened, and was worried that what you 'have' might be catching."

"Did anyone tell her that I don't 'have' anything?"

To that Lisa shrugged. "She'll be fine. I'm glad you're fine, Sypha. Does anyone know what you're going to do in class from now on?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I guess I'll have to sit them out and take a written test, or something? I'll talk it over with Professor Weasley the next time I see her."

"Her husband was really nice," Lisa admitted in a quiet tone. "Rose, your dad was really nice." She seemed somewhat embarrassed to say this, but there was never really a better time to compliment other houses and escape with some dignity intact. "I was glad to meet him."

"Thanks," Rose said. Albus grinned widely.

"I don't mean to interrupt or anything," James said, "But Pomfrey's been giving us the evil eye for the last fifteen minutes or so, and it's getting kind of late. I think we're supposed to give you some peace, Sypha."

"It's okay," she said. "I don't want to hold you up. See you all later?"

"Bye, Sypha!' Albus said, and then James began to escort him and Rose away.

"I'm glad you're all right," Lisa approached Sypha and hugged her lightly around the shoulders. "Just don't scare us like that ever again, okay?"

"I'll try not to," she said.

Louie nodded three times to Sypha in lieu of saying anything, and left with Lisa.

"Madame Pomfrey?" she asked a few minutes later, when things were quiet.

Pomfrey stood up from her seat and approached. "Yes, child?"

Sypha looked up to her, and then asked, "Madame Pomfrey, what's really wrong with me?"

"I don't know, Miss Veranades," Pomfrey answered. "You reacted in a very peculiar way to the Patronus spell, but apart from that I really can't tell. You're not sick, and as far as I can tell everything is in working order. I would have passed it off as nothing, but you were out for a very long time, and you said you felt a slight relapse when that fool Eytinge cast a Patronus at you. I have sent an owl to St. Mungo's, but I have yet to hear a response. I am sorry."

Sypha nodded, not feeling at all reassured by that.

"Do be careful when you go tromping around Hogsmeade tomorrow with your friends," Pomfrey said. "And if you should feel faint at all – for any reason whatsoever – come back and see me."

"I will," Sypha nodded. She rested well that night, and although her thoughts were troubled, she had pleasant dreams.


	10. Chapter 9: Leo Eytinge

**Chapter 9: Leo Eytinge**

"Are you sure you're all right, Sypha?" Lisa Pringle asked as she showed Argus Filch her permission slip. The old man glanced at it, sneered, and pet his cat – one of about five he owned these days, all of which seemed entirely capable of running Hogwarts security completely on their own.

"I'm fine," she said as she passed by the caretaker. "I feel all right, nothing major to worry about. And besides that, you're all basically flanking me like bodyguards." In truth she felt a little woozy still, but it was easily shaken-off.

The small crowd of friends surrounding her – Albus, James, Rose, Lisa, Alexander, and Louie – suddenly began to space themselves out more. The miracle of Albus and Rose being allowed into Hogsmeade really was not very unique – Albus had contacted his uncle George, and had gotten a written invitation to visit the shop. Thus, the two were allowed out of school grounds provided that they were not alone. Of courfse, the written permission said nothing about Honeydukes, The Three Broomsticks, or anywhere else, but who was going to tell?

"If I knew that the best way to unite all the houses was to get sick, I'd have caught something more serious," she remarked. "Maybe Dragon Pox, or something."

"Or cancer!" Alexander Dioti offered in his usual tone. "Believe me, that works wonders for sympathy."

"And it's not every day that somebody gets killed by the Spell of Love and Happiness," Lisa added.

"I wasn't killed."

"Yet."

"Alex, please," Sypha said. "Lately your jokes all make it sound like you're going to commit murder before Christmas."

"Well, you know I'm not," he answered. "And if I were, I've lost my best opportunity already. Besides, what can I do? You've got me surrounded by Potters."

"And a Weasley, and a Lane," Sypha corrected. They always seemed to forget Rose's last name.

"I don't count Hufflepuffs."

"Alex!" she protested.

"Really, look at this!" he kept his voice low, but Alexander Dioti's meaning was quite clear. "You're a Slytherin, Sypha – we are, the four of us here. It's like you're 'collecting' people from the other houses to compensate for something."

"No it's not," Sypha said, "James and Rose are Al's family, and Louie is a really nice guy. There's nothing to worry about."

He still looked rather grumpy, though, and Sypha was about to say something more when Albus suddenly shouted,

"Look! It's Weasley's! Let's see if Uncle George is in!"

The Hogsmeade branch of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, while not as large as the Diagon Alley headquarters, was more than adequate for Hogwarts student needs. It was well-stocked with old favorites such as Extendable Ears, Ton-Tongue Taffy, Reusable Hangmen, Skiving Snackboxes, Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, Pygmy Puffs, Peruvian Instant Darkness, WonderWitch Products, Trick Wands, the surprisingly still popular U-No-Poo, as well as many newer items including Color-Changing Quills, Exploding Parchment, Shrinking Robes, Hornblowing Hats of Hilarity, Bombs with Feet, Clawed Frisbees (similar to the popular "Fanged Frisbee"), Ronald's Favorite Spider Potion, Percy's Creeping Tentacles, Charlie Weasley-Approved Dragon Repellant, and the frightfully named Concordant Killer.

The rather spacious shop was absolutely bustling with energetic students and filled with exploding inventory (almost literally), and so was slightly difficult for a small crowd of seven to make their way through in a straight line. Also, James kept getting sidetracked with products he wanted to use back at Hogwarts. After a little bit of pushing and prodding, Albus managed to navigate the group to the back of the store, near a large orange door marked "EMPLOYEES ONLY" in purple lettering. Al knocked on it and then went inside, anyway.

"I should really follow him," James said, comparing two Skiving Snackboxes, "But what do you think? Does the Fever Fudge look better in this box, or in that one?"

"I don't support lying to get out of class," Rose said. "But try that one. Richer color, so it's probably more potent."

"Thanks, Rose, you're a gem!" James answered, and at that time Albus burst out from the door, looking as though it were Christmas. Sypha, who had been paying attention to James and Rose, jumped.

"Uncle George's coming out! Come on!" he told the older girl, "You've got to see him!"

"Albus, I know you're excited," Sypha said to him, "But I–" She stopped and blinked, seeing the kind of person who stepped out of the Employees Only door.

He was a mess of scars, marred by the remnants of old injuries covering nearly every inch of exposed flesh. He only had one ear, and one of his eyes was milky-white and dead, a particularly long and deep scar crossing over it, reaching down to twist the corner of his nearly-toothless mouth in a deformed rictus. His hair hung in thin strands, only a few still vaguely red among the gray. George Weasley leaned heavily on a cane, and the hand clutching it was missing two of its fingers. He hobbled up to the students, gasping and wheezing as he did so. The old, mangled man coughed loudly, his free hand moving quickly to cover his mouth, and looked at them with his one good eye.

"George Weasley?" Sypha asked timidly, hoping that she did not sound as perturbed as she felt.

The mutilated man's one eye settled upon her, and the working corner of his mouth turned upward in a twisted grin. "Perhaps," the man croaked, "let me check." He twirled around with sudden flourish, dropping his cane on the floor. The scars immediately melted away, his bad eye regained its color, his fingers grew back, and his hair restored itself into a thick mop of reddish-orange. George Weasley became a very handsome man, approaching middle-age but still quite young, although his right ear was still missing.

"Why yes, I am indeed myself," George declared, grinning like a champion. "George Weasley, at your service. You know, I tried to get people to call me 'Mad-Ear Weasley,' but I guess it never took. What do you think about the Moody Disguise Kit? Works, eh? Think any of your friends'll get a kick out of it?"

"I think so!" James was in awe. "Uncle George! How much for it?"

"Wow," was all that Sypha said. George looked a little bit like Ronald Weasley, except that he was slightly taller, thinner, older, there were a few facial differences, and he was missing an ear. This was the legendary George Weasley, hero of the Second Wizarding War, and co-founder of the greatest joke and novelty chain in the wizarding world. Sypha would have already been in awe, if not for the fact that he was talking at a mile a minute.

"So, Al, who are these friends you wanted to introduce me to? All I see here are a bunch of Slytherins," he said. "Oh! That's right, _you're_ a Slytherin! Well, you'll never take me alive!"

"Uncle George!" Albus protested. "Be serious! I want you to meet Sypha Veranades, and Lisa Pringle, and Louie Lane, and… and…"

"Alexander Dioti," Alex muttered. "A pleasure."

"Right, right, good to meet all of you – Snake-tongued little sneaks or not, a friend of Al's is – Pringle, was it? You know, My dad's still got scars from your somehow-associated relative."

"Great-Grandfather always took pride in his work," Lisa said, beaming.

"And you – Lane, why is Hufflepuff always the one with the good Quidditch players? I've lost money thanks to you!"

"Um, thanks?" Louie answered, sounding very unsure of himself. He seemed to be trying to hide behind Sypha, which would only have worked if he were not so much larger than she was.

"And you… you're short," said George, "Keep up the good work."

"I will?" Sypha now joined Louie in being utterly confused. However, the situation was still fun.

"Well, since I've got you all here, I may as well give you the grand tour, eh?' George said, looking at the group. "Friends of Albus and all that, come on!"

"He's a nutter," Alexander whispered to Lisa while they were looking at new varieties of Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. "A complete nutter."

"I think he's sweet," she responded. "Having such a nice sense of humor, and, well, did you hear about what happened to his ear?"

"No, not really," he said.

"I heard he lost it fighting the Dark Lord himself, or one of his henchmen, or something like that. Lost his brother in the War, too. They were twins, too."

He did not have a rejoinder to that one, and so remained quiet for a little while.

"Now, these may look just like your average Fizzing Whizbee," George informed them, holding up a small candy, "But I guarantee that if you give this to your friends, nobody'll sit next to them at lunchtime for a week!"

* * *

While Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was certainly the highlight of the day, seeing Louie go completely overboard in Quality Quidditch supplies was also worth the effort, as was Lisa's attempt to make Sypha "look like a witch, not a hag" in Gladrags, and Honeydukes was, of course, as enjoyable as always. Finally, as the afternoon was turning into evening, Sypha relented to going to The Three Broomsticks to talk with Professor Eytinge. The entire group approached the inn, and had no sooner moved inside than the professor popped up, nearly coming out of nowhere.

"Ah, good, Miss Veranades! Good to see you!" he clasped his hands together, as exuberant as he always appeared. "I have been here since lunch, but no matter – I do think that Madame Rosemerta does not age, it would seem."

"Good evening, Professor," Sypha said, nodding to him. "Have you met my friends? Lisa, Albus, Louie, Alexander, James, and Ro–"

"Yes, yes," he waved dismissively. "I remember all of my students. May I have a few words with you, Miss Veranades?"

"Well, yes," she said, "Do you mind if–"

"Actually, yes," he interrupted again. "I would indeed mind – I assure you, nothing secretive, but the presence of others would be distracting." There was something emphatic about his tone, maintaining Eytinge's cheerful demeanor while making it quite clear that he wanted to talk to her alone.

Sypha looked to the others, and found less support than she had hoped. Really, there was no reason to feel apprehensive at the prospect of speaking with the professor alone, and perhaps it really was simple nerves after being hit by his Patronus, but when James led the others by suggesting that they would just have a butterbeer and wait somewhere to the side, she did not feel encouraged. Professor Eytinge led her away almost immediately to one of the smaller side dining rooms. It was not private, Sypha noted, but was away from anybody she personally knew.

"So, Professor… you knew my aunt?" she asked as they approached a booth, trying to break the ice.

"Yes, yes, I did!" Eytinge said, waiting for Sypha to sit. She did, and he slid into the booth across from her. "Years ago, when we were both at Durmstrang. Very studious, your Violet – she would nearly drive us mad by forcing us to study when we preferred anything else. But I assume she has not changed much."

"No, not really, I guess," Sypha said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, but she never mentioned you, Professor."

"That is all right," he waved his hand again. "Nothing to worry over – would you like some tea, Miss Veranades?"

She nodded, beginning to feel less uncomfortable. "And you knew my parents, too?"

"Yes! Yes, I did!"

She nodded once as the pot of tea arrived, adding, "My aunt never really talked about them much. I always got the picture that she and my mother grew apart somewhat, and maybe she never really knew my dad."

"Ah, your father," Eytinge folded his hands over the table. "You never knew him very well? Richard was an excellent man – strong, sure of himself, always certain; certain of what he wanted, of what he was going to do. I have never met a more charismatic man."

She poured her tea, continuing to listen to him.

"I guarantee you have never met a man like Richard," he reminisced. "Nor will you, not in any way imaginable. Miss Veranades – may I call you Sypha? We are not at the school."

"Yes, Professor," Sypha answered – although, school friend of her parents' or not, she probably would not feel comfortable using his first name until the summer. "It's okay."

"Ah, Sypha," Eytinge nodded again. "Your father, he was strong, very strong." His hand moved, and for a minute Sypha was worried that Professor Eytinge was going to take her hand. Instead, he took the pot of tea, filling his own cup. Eytinge looked up again, gazing directly into her eyes as he spoke.

"You have his eyes, you know. At least a little bit – they had a kind of fire that could make others follow him, believe in anything he did. Do you know what I mean? This charisma, this power, this…" and he faltered, and shook his head. "My dear Sypha, I do not mean to insult you. You lack that determination, that charisma, but this is not a bad thing – you are who you are."

"It's okay," she muttered quickly, and took a sip of her tea. Sypha had expected Professor Eytinge to talk about what her father looked like, how he behaved, and maybe share a school story or two. She hadn't expected him to nearly compose poetry for the man, and in truth it was beginning to unnerve her just slightly.

"When he determined to do something, he would accomplish it," Eytinge continued. "If your father truly desired something, he would fight the heavens for it." His gaze shifted to his tea, and then back to her. "Am I boring you?"

She shook her head. This conversation was indeed very strange, but it was anything but boring.

"Well then," he steepled his fingers on the table. "Your parents and I were very close friends in Durmstrang – the three of us were completely inseparable. We even adopted a teacher – or perhaps he simply took us under his wing – as our special mentor. We – three of us – enjoyed ourselves, causing trouble and planting chaos. I assume your friends are the same?"

Sypha and her friends did not exactly paint the castle green, she thought – but understood what he meant. "Why didn't you keep in touch?" she asked. For a brief moment the professor looked uncomfortable, but then regained his composure.

"People… people sometimes fall out of touch when they leave school and grow older," he answered. "It is as simple as that. I did not know your aunt well enough to continue talking to her."

Privately, Sypha wondered why Leo Eytinge wouldn't want to see how the daughter of his best friends was doing. His odd avoidance of mentioning their fate was nothing new to her, and she did not think it even remotely strange. Aunt Violet had told Sypha that her parents had died young, had briefly explained how, and then never brought it up again.

Many people had died in the few years immediately following the Second Wizarding War as fleeing Death Eaters were rounded up and arrested, and the loss of Sypha's parents were among the casualties, even while living in Germany. In fact, Aunt Violet had taken her niece and moved to America to escape all the violence and chaos.

"What was very amusing," Professor Eytinge changed the subject, apparently reverting to his schoolboy friendships. "Was that none of us were Russian, or Bulgarian, or Hungarian, or wherever. Your mother and I are German, your father was British, and Professor Graham Jones was American. Your father came to Germany after graduation, however, and I was glad to see him in my own country. How is your tea?"

"It's… it's all right," she said, looking into the cup. "Why did you come to Hogwarts?"

"Your Headmaster and I are friends," Eytinge answered, "I met him shortly after graduation, in fact. I wish to teach, and Durmstrang did not have what I desired. But it is such a happy coincidence!"

She still felt uncomfortable at this immense amount of familiarity with a professor. Professor Longbottom was very personable, but he still maintained the student-teacher division in his behavior. Professor Weasley was kindhearted, and it meant a lot to Sypha that she stayed in the hospital wing after the Patronus incident, but even then there was something odd about Eytinge's manner. There were subtle things that Sypha did not consciously notice, but still made her feel nervous. He might give an occasional, nearly imperceptible wince while recollecting, or would gloss over something else that seemed important. She began to sink deep in thought, her vague and blurry image of her parents seeming odd when compared to the professor's nearly-dreamy story.

"How was your time at Salem?" he asked, catching Sypha off-guard. "You studied there before you moved. How was it?"

She shrugged. "It was kind of so-so. I made a few friends, and I guess I got a good education, but I wasn't popular, or anything."

"Why is that?" the pot of tea was nearly empty, and the professor flagged down a server for a refill. "You seem to be doing very well here."

"Kind of," she shrugged again. "I have some really good friends here, and I love them, but I don't think I'm really all that popular or unpopular. It's kind of nice not being noticed by everybody all the time."

"Everybody noticed you in Salem?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry," Sypha said. "I'm really not the best witch in the world, and that kind of… I know Professor Longbottom talked to me about my records. I mean, I'm sorry, I'm not being clear."

"Your magic has a tendency to," the professor gestured once or twice with his hand. "To… go haywire, is that the term for it?"

"Yes." Sypha nodded.

"How so?" he asked, leaning back in his seat. "Tell me how, if you can describe it. Certainly you do not mean to tell me that you are a poor student, Sypha – supposedly you study and work hard, if what I have heard is correct."

"That's not it," she answered. "It's… it's kind of hard to explain, really. Things just sort of go wrong, like I don't always have control over my own magic."

"Have things gone 'wrong' here in Hogwarts?" Eytinge asked. "You seem to be perfectly fine."

Sypha shook her head. "I know, and it's really been one of the longest stretches I can remember where everything went well. I don't know how to really explain it."

"See if you can," the professor folded his hands together over his stomach, and crossed one leg over the other. "If you can tell me what you mean, that is."

"Well," she started, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "My spells don't always go wrong, it feels sort of – feels kind of cyclical. For a while, I'll be fine, but I'll start to feel… um, let me think – feel like there's pressure building? Kind of?"

"Is it at all like your headaches? The ones in Professor Weasley's class?" he asked.

Sypha shook her head. "No, no," she said, "I guess kind of, but no. When the professor was demonstrating her Patronus, I actually felt sick. This is different. I feel kind of agitated, maybe a little headachy – but it's kind of like when you're flying very high up, and you descend quickly. You know that pressure behind your ears?"

"Unfortunately," Eytinge agreed.

"Kind of like that," she shook her head again. "And then my magic eventually goes out of control somehow, and I feel better after. Aunt Violet said it has something to do with nerves 

and tension, or maybe I'm subconsciously holding back, or something. Do you know what I'm talking about?" She didn't really know why she was giving Professor Eytinge a much more detailed description of this than Professor Longbottom had received. Perhaps it was the informal setting.

"Yes, yes, I do," he sounded dismissive, at least on the surface. Eytinge looked away from her, his eyes glancing to his empty teacup. "It happens at times – nerves, although usually it resolved itself or is minor. You have not experienced it in this school?"

"No, not at all," she shook her head again. "I guess that's a good thing, professor. It was kind of embarrassing at Salem, like that one time I transfigured the teacher's quill into a Flobberworm – I was trying the Cheering charm, would you believe it?"

He nodded once. "But you are all right here. What was the most severe incident?"

She paused for a moment, as if trying to remember something. "One time I blew up a classroom, but nobody got hurt," Sypha answered. "The chairs and desks were ruined, but it didn't harm anybody."

"I see," he responded, and leaned forward again. "Tell me, why did you leave Salem?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "It's… I remember the administration being very upset about those accidents, but I don't think I did anything more severe than usual. I guess it was cumulative?"

"That…" he paused, as if choosing his words. "That sounds right. They had years of this kind of difficulty – but you are sure there was nothing significant, no breaking point?"

She thought again for a moment, and then shook her head. "No… I'm sorry, no, not that I can remember. I don't think they really asked me to leave, but Aunt Violet met with them and then suggested that we move. I didn't have any trouble getting into Hogwarts, so I guess everything was all right."

"But you do not think you will have this problem here?" he asked again, seemingly moving the subject backward. This struck Sypha as odd, and she began to feel nervous again about the conversation.

"No, I haven't," she answered. "I guess developing a Patronus allergy is more than enough for me."

"Will you tell me if you do?"

"Yes," Sypha answered, and inwardly thought that she probably would not. "It's okay, Professor. I'll let you know if anything goes wrong."

"And if not myself, speak to another professor," he advised. "Or even Madame Pomfrey. I think we would like you to do well here."

"Thank you, sir," she said.

"I am glad to have taken this time to talk with you," Eytinge said, "to get to know you, Sypha. I should contact Violet again, I think – did I tell you that your eyes are a little like your father's? You look very much like his mother, in fact."

"I do?" she noticed that the conversation had reverted again to her parents. "Really?"

"Yes, indeed," he nodded, smiling warmly. "But I think she may have been taller."

"I see." Of course, the descriptor he gave applied to nearly everyone.

"You have good friends," Eytinge told her. "Spend your time with them – I think that perhaps their support helps calm you, helps your magical performance, Sypha."

"Thank you, sir," Sypha answered. "I'm glad to have them."

"Good," he nodded, and glanced to the empty teapot. "I think you would like to get back to them now, would you not?"

"Yes, I would, sir," she responded, and smiled. "Thanks for the talk, Professor. I'd really like to do it again sometime." To be honest, she wasn't sure if she did, but that may just have been nerves.

"Good, good – do have a good evening," he rose from his seat, and offered Sypha a hand. She accepted it, stood, and muttered a quick "likewise" before moving back toward the main room of the inn.

Sypha Veranades reached her friends again just as James Potter was about to discreetly set off a Dungbomb under the table.

"What are you doing?" she sounded startled, but James almost jumped out of his chair.

"Oh, nothing!" he hastily tried to hide the Dungbomb. "Nothing at all!"

Sypha noticed that the hand with which James held the bomb was suspiciously close to Alexander Dioti's bag. She glared at James, but didn't voice her suspicion.

"I swear, all you Slytherins are too paranoid," James muttered, still trying to hide the stinkbomb. "Like a bunch of snakes, really. So, how was your time with the teacher?"

She shrugged. "Oh, nothing special, really. Turns out he knew my parents in school, and wants to get in touch with my aunt."

"I wish I had professors like that," James muttered. "The only teachers my parents know are Hagrid, Longbottom, Flitwick, Slughorn, Merrythought, Trelawney, Firenze, Sinsitra, Vector, Binns, and the staff."


	11. Chapter 10: The Beast

**Chapter 10: The Beast**

In The Three Broomsticks, Sypha had decided that she probably did not want to tell Professor Eytinge if she began to feel any magical problems coming on, and it was not long before she had a chance to test this resolution. It was very simple, really – she just woke up one day about a week after her Hogsmeade trip with a strange headache, and didn't give it a second thought. Professor Weasley was still teaching Patronuses, after all.

Hermione had been very accommodating in light of Sypha's apparent sensitivity to the spell. For the remainder of the time that they were to study the Patronus Charm, she had set Sypha up with a chair and desk outside of the classroom, and assigned her several small writing exercises to make up for the lack of practical experience. Although it bothered her somewhat to miss all the fun in-class as more and more students learned to call the spell, that was honestly preferable to ending up in the hospital wing again. The time she spent like that was also rather peaceful as well, as Sypha usually finished her assignments early. With the exception of the time that Peeves dumped a waste basket on her head and announced to all that, "Professor kicked the midget girl out!", she thoroughly enjoyed that week.

It was because, in retrospect, Sypha had not been present for any Patronus castings, that after the second day of feeling odd she realized that it couldn't be because of the spell. She didn't even feel "ill," strictly speaking. It could be academically described as a headache, but not even that really fit the definition. A better explanation would be what a person might feel behind his or her ears when descending in an airplane, but Sypha, having never ridden in one, would not have identified it properly. Nor had her broom rides ever ascended that high, and thus "pressure" or "a headache" was the only way she really had of describing it. But then, what was there really to talk about? Ordinarily, when she felt this way, all it meant was that in another day or two, one of her spells would go wrong, and then she would be fine for a while. If it was an issue of nerves, then that could easily be dealt with in time.

For now, Sypha decided to see if she could cut it off at the source. On the third night after she began to feel strange, the day after she determined what it was, Sypha stayed up late until the Slytherin Common Room had been deserted, and began to casually practice her spells. This way, she assumed, she could trigger whatever the problem was early, and then get on with life as normal.

However, all that had resulted so far was that she was getting a lot better at her Transfiguration and Charm spells, and Solomon began meowing at her as though she had gone insane.

"It's okay, Solomon," she told the cat. "Just working a few things out, all right? I'll come to bed soon."

* * *

He answered her with another cat-noise, and she went back to repeating the Summoning Charm. All that it accomplished was adding to her boredom. The items never wavered, flew out of control, transformed, or exploded. After a few more attempts Sypha sighed and shook her head, and went back to trying Transfiguration magic. After turning a footstool into a cocker spaniel and back again three times, Sypha was ready to give up.

"Sypha?" came a voice from behind her, near the door to the girls' dormitory. Startled, she jumped and turned around. Lisa Pringle was standing there, having obviously just woken up. "What are you doing up this late?"

Sypha smiled to her. It was a dramatic change, seeing Lisa disheveled and without her makeup, but Sypha was used to it by now. Lisa was still quite pretty, anyway. She didn't have to work at it as much as she did.

"I was just practicing a little," Sypha said.

"At three in the morning?"

"It's that late already?" this may have been why Solomon had been having a fit, Sypha realized. Lisa nodded.

"It is. Is everything okay, Sypha?"

"It's all right." Her shoulders slumped, and she shrugged. "I guess I'll give up my homework for the day. Did I wake you?"

"No, your cat did," Lisa said, and bent to pick over Solomon. The cat purred, and slipped into her arms. "He wants you to go to bed, too."

"He likes you a lot," Sypha commented as she began to put out the lamps.

"Well, I _am_ your best friend, aren't I?" Lisa bragged with a casual toss of her hair.

Sypha chuckled. "All the competition is too young or in the wrong house. Who else?"

"Wrong house? You're the one making friends with Hufflepuffs and whatever," Lisa smirked, pet the top of Solomon's head. "Isn't that right, Solomon? Sypha's spread herself all over the houses now, hasn't she?"

"Are you okay with that?" Sypha asked, walking over to her friend. "Really?"

Lisa hesitated a moment, and then nodded. "For you, I am. Honestly, I wouldn't have ever approached them on my own. But you're my friend, okay?"

"That's not very Slytherin of you," she answered.

* * *

"Don't worry," Lisa paused to yawn, covering her mouth with her free hand. "I'll kick a puppy or something tomorrow. See if Alex has any spares or anything. Come on now, it's past our bedtime."

Just as Sypha was unable to force her magic to go haywire that night, so was she for the day after, and the next. By that time, she was beginning to genuinely consider letting nature run its course. Talking to a professor was still out of the equation – she felt embarrassed, regardless of the fact that at least two of them knew about the problem by now. She idly wrote "It's all a matter of NERVES" on a piece of paper, underlining the last word three times, before remembering that she was in class and needed to take notes. She was back in Defense Against the Dark Arts proper, as Professor Weasley was going to begin teaching them specialized countercurses. The professor had begun to look slightly more frayed recently, probably due to an increased workload as a result of the MacLeary arrest.

"Now, class, this next spell is one that I really didn't wish I had to show you," Hermione Weasley began, stepping out from around her desk. "Sectumsempra. It was invented by a former professor here, Severus Snape, when he was a young Death Eater. This curse is incredibly dangerous and evil, and is specifically Dark Magic – I don't want to see any of you practicing it like it's the Bat-Bogey Hex or anything silly like that. Unfortunately, Sectumsempra's legal status remains unclear. I lobbied hard to make it totally illegal due to its harmful nature, but the Ministry has classified it as 'Slightly Forgivable.' That is, whenever Sectumsempra is used, there is an immediate inquiry as to its purpose – I was able to get that measure through, thank heavens. Frivolous uses are completely prohibited – so thankfully nobody is allowed to use it to cut grain – but it has been approved in certain situations dealing with dangerous magical creatures. I must again stress that this spell is dangerous, and honestly it's innately evil.

"Sectumsempra, however, has been given a lot of use by various dark wizards because of its destructive power and the difficulty in defending against it. For this reason, the countercurse that we will practice until the end of term will be the one that stops Sectumsempra. Any of you who plan on becoming Aurors should take extra-careful notes about this. Sectumsempra is a very simple spell, performed with a slashing wand motion. Its effect is that of an invisible sword, slicing instantly and deeply into any target. It cuts through defenses, and does very serious damage – very powerful healing spells are needed to repair any damage caused by Sectumsempra, and severed body parts cannot be regrown, although the piece can be reattached if applied within a few minutes.

"The best defense against Sectumsempra is avoidance, but sometimes a witch or wizard cannot move to dodge the spell. It cuts through the Shield Charm, but a special type of shield has been developed by the Ministry. To practice this, I have developed a totally harmless spell 

that is performed similarly to Sectumsempra. As a demonstration," she turned around suddenly, and slashed her wand at the wall. "_Colospergo!_"

Across the room, in the pattern that the professor's wand had moved, was a sudden splash of color. "It wears off after a half hour," she explained. "But the important thing is that this spell takes the same wand motion and just as much time to say as Sectumsempra. This is how we're going to learn to defend against Sectumsempra – by defending against Colospergo. The proper shield charm against Sectumsempra protects only a limited area, and the difficulty is that you have to match your opponent's wand movements at least reasonably well. It's a matter of reflexes as much as incantations, and I am going to teach you all how to perform a proper Frigus shield. Are there any questions?"

There were, and the class continued in that vein for a while. Sypha circled her note about nerves, as it seemed like it would be especially important when learning reflex spells under pressure. The professor allowed one student to try the Frigus shield on the first day, and Serenity volunteered immediately. Sypha found it strangely satisfying to watch her be splattered with multicolored paint five times before beginning to deflect any of it.

"Now class, I do have one unfortunate announcement," Hermione said at the end as the students were gathering their books and materials. "Sadly, I will not be able to be here for most of the month of December. Ignatius MacLeary's trial is coming soon, as you may have heard and I have chosen to lead the prosecution to make sure that we can lock him away. I have made arrangements for a substitute, and he will have total access to my curriculum. You will spend that time practicing this and other countercurses up to the Christmas holiday. It won't make a difference in your education, but I'm really sorry that I won't be seeing you for nearly the entire month. I tried to schedule it so it coincided with Christmas holiday, but a good portion of the proceedings will overflow, anyway. So, let's be sure to practice the Frigus Charm as much as possible until then, shall we?"

There was a general response of assent, and class was dismissed.

* * *

Although Sypha did not feel any better in the coming weeks, nothing was wrong with any of her magic. She spent a few more late nights trying to trigger an accident, but gave up after she nearly walked in on a potentially embarrassing situation involving two other Slytherins. Whenever she felt troubled about the situation, she simply thought more about how it was likely nerves, and all would be better before long. Besides, who hadn't felt the occasional nervous knot in their stomach that wouldn't go away? All was well.

Certainly nothing was wrong in Potions, where Sypha had managed to raise Louie's score near hers. After he received his last test grade, Louie had hugged her so hard that she was afraid 

her ribs might break. His Quidditch had even improved – Sypha was glad that Hufflepuff played Slytherin earlier in the term, when Slytherin still had a chance of winning.

Likewise, Herbology and Charms had improved, and Sypha was beginning to suspect that Professor Eytinge was giving her higher marks in Transfiguration because he knew her parents. The Potters were getting along swimmingly, and there were even a few possible signs that Albus and Scorpius might bury their two-generation feud and become friends. As the Defense class was no longer studying the Patronus Charm, Sypha also had no health issues to worry about. She sneaked into the kitchen one evening, baked a few cookies, and gave them to Madam Pomfrey. It wasn't for any special reason, but she had felt like thanking the school nurse, and Aunt Violet had suggested the cookies in a letter.

It was almost good enough to forget that steadily-building pressure in her head. Most of the time, it didn't even seem to be there at all.

* * *

As for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Weasley made her students work so hard that they began to wonder whether there would be any material left for the substitute to cover. Most of the class had learned how to defend against her color spray spell, and even Sypha had mostly gotten the hang of it. When the switch came, the class was studying proper defense against Lethifolds, including how to detect potential nighttime attacks. Thus, there was no problem on the day of the transfer itself.

Sypha sat down in her seat on December 5th, wondering who the interim professor would be, whether a teacher from the school or someone from outside. She got her answer very quickly, as Professor Leo Eytinge strode into the room exactly as class began.

"Welcome, everyone, to Defense Against the Dark Arts," Professor Eytinge announced to the class, moving around the room in a hyperactive manner. "I am Professor Leopold Eytinge, and this is your class. I will teach, you will learn, we will have fun. But then, you know all this already. So, shall we begin?"

Eytinge spent most of the period reviewing Weasley's notes, and managing a passable impression of her.

"This lesson plan is very detailed," he commented near the end of the period. "It is as if she does not want me to teach! Would you like to spend the last part of class practicing everything before we move on to whatever Mrs. Weasley has written?"

The class murmured assent, so Eytinge had them practice their anti-Sectumsempra shield again, demonstrating his own unique flourish with the Colospergo charm. He signed his name in neon letters on Setenity's chest, put a yellow smiley face on Lisa's forehead, and placed a large black "Z" over Alexander's torso.

"Now, Miss Veranades, would you like to be next?" he asked, grinning like a bandit. "I see that nobody has been able to withstand me for very long. Professor Weasley must be taking it easy on you, I assume?"

Sypha grunted and stood to her feet, brushing off her robes. She took her wand carefully, and stepped forward to the front of the class. She wasn't particularly looking forward to being embarrassed in front of the entire class, but it was becoming fairly likely that everybody would end up multicolored before long.

"Now remember, the important thing is proper tracking of my movement," Eytinge explained to the class as Sypha stepped forward. "What if I move my wand in a way that you do not expect? What if I attempt a complex pattern? You would still be cut – or colored, as the case is now. Sypha?" He looked to her, and she nodded. "Let us begin."

Sypha raised her wand as taught, and waited. Eytinge turned slowly, stood casually for a few moments, and then sprang into action. "_Colospergo!_" he shouted, bringing his wand upward in a slashing motion.

"_Frigus!_" Sypha dove forward, trying to match his movement.

"Good, good technique," Eytinge said, and then suddenly swiped his wand sideways in a quick zigzag. "_Colospergo!_"

"_Frigus!_"

"_Colospergo!_"

"_Frigus!_" Sypha matched his triangular slash, amazed that she had gotten this far – better than Lisa, and almost matching Serenity in defending against this spell.

"_Colospergo!_" Eytinge lunged forward, twirling the wand in a corkscrewing motion.

"_Frigus!_" she invoked, trying to follow him again. But this time, instead of a successful block, a small series of yellow sparks shot from her wand, and crackled three inches in the air before dissipating. Sypha stumbled back from Eytinge's spell, and a large red bullseye began to appear on her forehead.

"Ah, your concentration wavered," the professor said, offering her a hand up. "It is important to keep up your concentration when your opponent continues his attack. In real dueling, he will not allow you time to think or breathe. Good job, Veranades. Ten points for Slytherin. Please return to your seat."

She sat back down behind her desk, and took one deep breath before feeling relaxed again. That was it, then. She had felt that strange tension for several days, and one of her spells malfunctioned – albeit on a small scale – and now everything would return to normal.

* * *

However, Sypha was wrong about that. She realized this fact the next day, when she awoke feeling terrible. It mostly faded by breakfast, and it certainly did not interfere with her schoolwork that day. She was beginning to wonder if anything was really wrong – perhaps she was making it up, or maybe she was coming down with something else. Regardless, Sypha felt more determined not to say anything. Even when Albus noticed that she hadn't been feeling well, she shrugged it off and changed the conversation to what James did with his new Wizard Wheezes merchandise. As that topic was infinitely more entertaining (and by coincidence, one of the Gryffindors had just turned into a canary), she assumed that she had nothing to worry about.

Eytinge's first week subbing for Professor Weasley went without incident, although the extra workload was visibly wearing on him. He began to look drawn and pale, as if he was not sleeping well, and developed the unfortunate tendency to switch student names without warning. Lisa did not appreciate being called "Serenity" twice in one day. Apart from that, his work on the course was top-notch, and the students enjoyed the practical exercises at the end of each class period.

"Now, I have been with you a week," he began to say near the end of class on December 12th. "The term is nearly over, and your Professor Weasley seems to have assigned too much work for you. At our rate, I fear we would need three weeks – thus, I must warn you all, our rate of study will increase dramatically for the rest of the term. I apologize if your brains explode, for it is an academic necessity."

There were more than a few groans among the students, and Sypha began to think about when she could fit any extra studying into her already busy schedule. She already felt worse than usual today, and the Christmas break was looking better every minute.

"But for now, it is time to properly practice. Miss Starsdawn, would you step forward, please?"

The ex-Beauxbatons girl stood and went to the front of the class, standing next to the professor.

"You are the only student to defend yourself against more than five Colospergo castings," Eytinge stated to her and the rest of the class. "Thus, I need you to assist me more directly – help me in casting the spell so the others can practice their defense. Can you do this?"

She was positively beaming when she agreed to do so.

"Students, please form two lines, and practice Frigus with either myself or Miss Starsdawn."

The students began to form one line in front of the professor, but after he began to glare at them, they grudgingly followed his instructions. Serenity was more predictable than Eytinge, completely lacking his flourish as she slashed bright colors on her fellow students. However, she made up for that with an intense, competitive furor over anyone who might successfully block one of her spells.

"Stop being slow!" she told Lisa Pringle, who now had pink and blue marks crisscrossing over her stomach. "What do they teach you here? In Beauxbatons, we learn early to be light on our feet. What is wrong with you?"

"Is it just me," Alexander whispered to Sypha. "Or does she get more annoying every day?"

"Huh?" Sypha looked up, and then nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good, then." And he suddenly took two steps back, moving behind Sypha in line. "Then you can humble her first."

"Hey!" she protested. "No fair!"

Alex stuck his tongue out as a retort.

"Fine, fine," she muttered. "You know it'll be a disaster, anyway."

She stood in front of Serenity Starswawn, and raised her wand. Sypha almost asked if they could just get it over with quickly, but she thought better of it.

"Let's get this over with quickly," Serenity sighed. "You are a clumsy American. Please do not embarrass us both."

"Hey!" her objection to this was a little more genuine than to Alex's move earlier.

"Fine. Be upset." The French girl responded, immediately lunging forward to sweep the spell in a downward arc.

Sypha was taken by surprise, and quickly fumbled with her wand to produce the Frigus Charm. The spell failed outright, and she would have been tagged if not for the fact that she fell on her rear. A strange dark purple cloud puffed from her wand, disappearing after a few seconds.

"That was terrible!" Serenity scolded. "Get up, we will try this again."

Sypha returned to her feet, watching the little cloud as it disappeared. Very strange – she couldn't remember producing an effect like that before.

"Do your best not to faint this time," Serenity taunted quietly, out of Eytinge's hearing.

Sypha really did not know what it was that Serenity had against her, although she seemed to behave this way toward most of the other students, as well.

"I won't," she almost growled, and clutched her wand tightly. The nerve! "Come on, try it again."

Serenity nodded once, and approached with a low slash. Sypha took a step back, quickly and carefully moving her wand in a matching motion as she focused on the protective charm. She successfully blocked Serenity's first Colospergo, although she felt odd when doing it; less in control somehow. She wiped her brow with her sleeve, and did not notice that her wand was crackling with faint energy colored almost exactly like that cloud. Serenity dove forward again, and shouted the incantation more loudly, directing this second Colospergo higher than the previous one.

Sypha brought her wand up, shouting, "Frigus!" as she did so. The shield did not appear. Instead her wand trembled lightly in her hand, sputtered, and then burst out a tremendous dark cloud in front of her. She fell backward, dropping her wand and hitting her head on the floor, and heard what sounded like somebody screaming elsewhere in the room.

The thing that emerged from Sypha's wand was like nothing she had ever seen outside of her nightmares. It stood on four legs like a wolf, but was at least the size of a bear. The beast's fur was black like a void, seeming to suck in all the light around the creature, blurring its form and putting out the candles in the classroom. Luminous, unnervingly intelligent eyes contrasted its body, and the beast opened its mouth wide in an unearthly howl that shook the classroom. Fangs nearly the size of tusks gleamed white in the darkening room, cast slightly red from the light of its eyes.

Students panicked, rushing in a stampede to the other side of the room. Serenity screamed a second time, trapped against the wall behind the beast. It turned suddenly and looked directly at Sypha, its eyes glowing brightly in the increasing shadows. She felt an immense, paralyzing wave of fear sweep over her, blocking out everything else in her mind.

It almost seemed to grin while studying her, beginning to open its mouth again. Sypha tried to move, but found herself completely unable. The beast gradually moved forward, its claws scraping on the stone floor. Its jaws opened wider, and it was close enough that she could smell its breath, a horribly heavy, musky, rotten odor. Long strands of saliva dripped to the floor, sizzling in their own heat against the flagstones.

"Somebody do something!" a student shouted. Again Sypha tried to run, but only succeeded in scrambling back a few feet on her hands. The monster lunged at her, its fangs nearly clamping around her head, when the classroom was suddenly flooded with silver light.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" shouted Professor Eytinge as a brilliant silver owl burst forth from his wand, darting across the room at the creature.

The black beast snarled, its attention swerving away from Sypha toward the spell, and it bolted, vanishing into smoke as soon as it hit the wall. The room began to lighten as the Patronus darted to and fro, forcing the remaining shadows to dissipate. The candles began to light themselves again. People were still screaming.

Sypha didn't care that Eytinge's Patronus gave her a headache.

"Everybody!" Eytinge's voice boomed over the din. "Remain calm! Is anybody hurt?"

Sypha put her hand over her heart, feeling almost unable to breathe. The beast was gone and the lights had returned, but she could still barely move. Eytinge passed by her on his way toward Serenity, and turned to Sypha.

"You!" he shouted loudly. "Go to Slughorn's office! The password is 'Order of Merlin.'"

"Y-yes, sir," she said, beginning to slowly try to stagger to her feet.

"Go now!"

Sypha scrambled, almost breaking into a run as she left the classroom. She could hear the professor calming students and checking to see if anybody was hurt. She felt dizzy, and had to stop and grip the railing for a few moments before climbing the stairs. The nightmarish scene kept replaying itself in her head, and she had to steel herself before going up toward the headmaster's office.

She muttered the password in front of the gargoyle, and stumbled inside without knocking. The room was completely empty, and she collapsed into the nearest chair. Her thoughts kept turning back to the thing that appeared in the classroom – had she summoned it somehow? How could this be possibly related to the small malfunctions she was used to? What was that monster? Her mind kept moving back to the event itself, and she shuddered, incapable of really piecing it together coherently. What was going on?

Sypha put her head in her hands.

After what seemed like an eternity, she heard the gargoyle move, and then heard footsteps and the sound of people talking. The door opened, and professors Eytinge, Longbottom, Merrythought, Flitwick, and Slughorn burst inside the office, already loudly 

discussing the situation – if "discussing" was the proper term, as they all seemed to be talking at once.

Sypha barely had time to look up before Eytinge grabbed her chair and pushes it out the door, harshly whispering into her ear.

"I told you to tell me if anything went wrong!" he hissed, and then, before she could respond, had gone back inside Slughorn's office and slammed the door.

She remained where she was, head in her hands, before she began to hear the Heads of Houses arguing again. Sypha stood up from the chair on shaky legs, and crept over to the door, although she didn't really have to lean close to hear what was going on. The professors were loud enough to wake the dead.

"Now, now, everybody, calm down!" Slughorn's booming voice bellowed. "We still have not yet determined whether or not the girl summoned the monster. Leo, do you have her wand?"

"All I know is that we've called off our classes and there are students yelling that a Slytherin was calling up demons in class," said Professor Longbottom, the usual calm tone missing from his voice. "That French Ravenclaw girl is telling everyone within earshot that Veranades was trying to murder her!"

"Here, I have her wand," said Eytinge, sounding slightly less agitated than he had in the classroom. "Let us see for ourselves. _Prior Incantacum!_"

Sypha heard a light noise, somewhat similar to the sound that the Frigus Charm made.

"That…" Flitwick squeaked. "That's the strangest thing I've ever seen."

"What is that?" Merrythought asked.

"It looks like the Frigus Charm," Flitwick answered. "But it isn't, not really. Do you see how the shield distorts itself after it first forms? It appears to be fraying around the edges."

"That's just an improperly-cast charm, then? Is that it, Filius?" Slughorn asked now, his voice becoming louder as he walked closer to the others.

"No, it is not," came Eytinge's voice. "What you are seeing is the last spell cast by this wand, and the caster – Miss Veranades in this case – was indeed attempting to cast Frigus. However, it seems that something interfered with her casting."

"Do you mean that…" Merrythought said, sounding panicked. "Are you saying that somebody was influencing her spell from outside?"

"No, it can't be." Longbottom interjected. "Look!"

There was silence for a moment, and Sypha leaned closer to the door.

"I see," Flitwick said quietly enough that Sypha could barely hear him. "The charm is changing – it did come from this wand, then. What is it made of?"

"One moment," Slughorn said, and she could hear him rustling through some papers. "There. Nine inches, rosewood, unicorn hair. Produced by Reuben and Brother in the States. Nothing special."

"Are you sure there is nothing unusual about her wand?" asked Longbottom. "Still, I think we should analyze it just in case."

"We could bring in some of your friends, Neville," Slughorn suggested. "A few Aurors, perhaps, to check for any dangerous curses?"

"It is not her wand," Eytinge said flatly. "Or at least nobody has modified it. I assure you that nobody was casting anything on or around Miss Veranades. Sypha meant to cast a modified Shield charm, and instead summoned a monster."

There was another long moment of silence, and Sypha fell back, sitting in the chair. Was it really her, then? She stood again, and leaned close to listen once more.

"Do you really think so?" Longbottom sounded confused. "I know she's a Slytherin – no offense, Headmaster – but Sypha seems like a nice enough girl."

"Nice people are often deceiving," Slughorn said, and Sypha noticed a terrible change in his tone. He spoke more slowly and deliberately, without panic, but there was a note of genuine fear in his voice. "Leopold, do you have proof that she did indeed unleash this… this thing?"

A brief pause, and Professor Eytinge answered. "Yes, Horace. When she attended Salem, Sypha's spells would occasionally go wrong. I talked to her myself, and she told me of a few things. Explosions, accidental transfigurations, small things like that. However, I looked at her records, and they held the truth."

"So have I!" The Headmaster harrumphed. "And I saw nothing of this caliber in them. Nothing at all!"

"Her transcript says nothing," Eytinge answered. "And she herself did not tell me any of this. However, last weekend I left here and Apparated to Massachusetts. It was difficult to convince their administration, but they allowed me to see her records. The transcripts they gave us were so we would accept her here, you see."

"What… what did they say?" Longbottom asked. He moved so close to the door that Sypha froze, worried that he might open it and catch her listening in. But he remained in the office.

"Only one incident was left out of her transcript," Eytinge stated. "During the exams of her last year there, Miss Sypha Veranades accidentally summoned three Shadow Bats while attempting to perform the Flagrate Charm."

"Shadow Bats?" that note of fear seemed to have crept into Longbottom's voice, too.

"Why didn't they do anything about it?" Merrythought sounded upset, nearly angry. "This is serious! It took the ministry years to get rid of all the Shadow Bats in Britain, and here we are admitting a student who calls them up for kicks?"

"No, no, Mathilda, she did not mean to do it," Eytinge answered, his voice slightly closer to where hers was coming from. "And the fact is, the girl herself has no memory of the accident. The Salem administration Obliviated her shortly after they asked her Aunt to begin seeking a new school."

Sypha almost fell back into the chair again, stunned. Shadow Bats? Obliviated? She knew what the bats were – had studied them in her early Care of Magical Creatures class, in fact, since some of them still haunted areas in North and South America. They were horrible, twisted things that were invisible in low light and liked to shred prey with their tails – and she had somehow summoned them? And didn't remember it at all?

"Salem did not demand that she leave," Eytinge continued to explain. "They merely suggested, as they would not Obliviate their entire campus. The school is known for covering their dark marks, and the results sometimes harm others. But they determined that she was not truly at fault, although they did not discover the true source behind it. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Does this have anything to do with your friendship with her Aunt?" Longbottom asked bluntly.

"No!" Eytinge answered. "I have not seen the woman since before Sypha was born. The truth is, I believe… I think that she is afflicted with something. What, I do not know – you saw her response to the Patronus, and now you have both of these incidents."

"We cannot keep a student who poses a constant danger to the others." Slughorn stated.

"No, we cannot." Eytinge said. "However, we will not be Obliviating her of this. The answer is not in removing this girl from the school, but instead in keeping a reign on her. Controlling her power until she can control it herself? If we break her wand, it may give free reign to this outlet of chaos."

"You're being incredibly charitable," Merrythought said. "Why? Do you know anything else about this that we don't?"

"Because if there is nothing else I learned in Durmstrang, it was mercy."

"Durmstrang?" came Flitwick's tiny voice.

"All right, I did not learn mercy from Durmstrang."

There was silence for a long while after that. Sypha stood up a little straighter, and found that she had trouble catching her breath. She put her hand over her heart, and could feel it beating even through her robes. Professor Eytinge was trying to keep her on campus? Even after she was hiding things from him? She sat down, trembling all over – was all of this really true? What was she?

"Then what do we do?" Slughorn asked, his tone steadily becoming calmer. "What do you suggest we do with a student who can, at any given time – whether she wants to or not, you are saying – call horrible demonic beasts down on all our heads?"

"She's just a girl!" Flitwick shouted suddenly and fiercely. "There are no signs in her life or personality that could possibly indicate this kind of evil, everyone. Look at her sometime! Mathilda, didn't you say that she's taken time out of her life to help one of your Hufflepuffs? One of the _Quidditch_ players, in fact, who keeps earning his own house points? I have to agree with Mr. Eytinge in this. We can't just kick her out. It would be – it would be criminal! It would certainly teach her all the wrong things about being a witch, in fact. We need to tread carefully, we need to… we need to help save this little girl from whatever's wrong with her! Leo, what do you suggest? What should we do about what just happened?"

There was a brief pause before Eytinge answered. "I do not entirely know," he said. "but as for this very moment, if you would allow me," he suddenly flung the door open, stepping across to Sypha in her chair.

"Professor," her voice shook heavily as she tried to talk. "I…"

Before she could go any further, Eytinge was pushing her chair back into Professor Slughorn's office. She looked at all five of them, and saw differing measures of fear and anxiety – in Merrythought's case, a hint of anger, while Longbottom looked heartbreakingly disappointed. Flitwick, always known to be a sensitive little man, seemed like he had been crying. Professor Eytinge still looked angry, though. Despite his words in her defense, he appeared to be furious. He was the one who addressed her first.

"Sypha, what do you have to say about this?" he snapped, lowering his face near hers. "About what happened in my class? Tell us!"

Sypha opened her mouth to say something, but her breath caught in her throat. She took a deep, shaky breath, and couldn't look at them anymore, hiding her face in her hands.

"I…" she began, her voice shaking heavily, having to restrain herself from crying. "I don't know! I'm sorry, I don't know what happened! What kind of person am I? What's going 

to happen now? What…" but then she stopped, leaving her last question unfinished. Her voice had broken on that last "What," and she took in a deep breath to try to control herself.

"This goes beyond House Points," said the Headmaster, who had now moved behind his desk. "Or detentions, or penalties, or grades, or anything like that. Sypha Veranades, we have decided to take your Head of House's advice into account, and we will not force you to leave here. However," he sounded much graver than Sypha had heard him at all, even earlier. "If anything like this happens again, we will expel you. Do you understand me?"

She nodded once.

"_Do you understand me?_" he repeated loudly.

"Y-yes, sir," she said, finally looking up. Eytinge offered her a handkerchief.

"For your eyes, if you start crying," he said, his tone softening immediately. "Or your nose, if it comes to that." She took it.

"Sypha, my offer to help you still stands, for what it's worth, I guess," Professor Longbottom said, although she did not know how sincere he sounded now.

"We will keep your wand overnight to run a few tests on it," Slughorn stated. "You will receive it back in your first class. If you find any sign of future trouble, you are instructed to come to one of us immediately. You understand the importance of this, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," she answered. "I understand." And this time, she thought that she really did.

"We have nothing left to say to you right now," Slughorn said to her. "You may go back to your dormitory."

Sypha looked around herself, and noticed that none of them were saying anything else.

"It's in the Dungeons," Eytinge stated. "You go down the stairs into the Common Room, and then up some other stairs into your dormitory. Go."

She nodded twice, and jumped to her feet, moving to the door. Sypha paused once, and looked back to the teachers.

"Thank you," she said, and quickly left the Headmaster's office.

Her trip back to the Slytherin Dungeon was surprisingly quiet. She did not even see a single house ghost as she went down multiple staircases and through the hallways. The same questions still raced through her head. What was this? Did Professor Eytinge really know something? W hat would her parents say? What was her Aunt going to say?

And then she realized that she was still allowed to stay at Hogwarts, and that in and of itself was amazing.

The Slytherin common room was not empty when Sypha arrived. It was actually quite full, mostly because nearly half of the day's classes had been cancelled. Several of the teachers needed to investigate the recent emergency, after all. So many people were staring at her that she felt she could literally feel their gaze, and shrunk somewhat as she stepped inside.

"Um…. Hello?" Sypha said in a weak greeting. She was about to say something else, possibly "They're letting me stay," or maybe even "It was an accident," but again nothing came.

She saw Albus, but more importantly she saw the terror in his eyes.

"Albus?" Sypha asked.

The boy shook his head. "Sypha…" he stepped back, away from her. "I need to talk to my dad. I need to send him an owl. I need to go now."

And the boy was gone, just like that. He left the common room so quickly that he may as well have been running. To Sypha, it felt like her heart had stopped for a moment. Ignoring everyone else, whether they said anything or not, she stumbled up the stairs and into the girls' dormitory, collapsing on her knees on the bed. Solomon meowed once, and apparently sensing that something was wrong, hopped up onto the bed and rubbed himself against her. Sypha hugged her cat against her chest. She closed her eyes, and saw the beast again, saw the gleam in its bright crimson eyes, saw how close its jaws came to her head, and shuddered, holding Solomon closer to herself.

* * *

Some time later that evening, Sypha heard a few footsteps, and looked up. Lisa Pringle had walked into the dormitory, and was putting her books away.

"Lisa?" Sypha looked up, toward her friend. Lisa had actually been in the classroom when it had happened.

Lisa turned and looked at Sypha, and bit her lower lip.

"Lisa?" Sypha repeated. She wanted to say something, anything – "It was an accident," or maybe "I'm still me," or possibly even, "Professor Eytinge doesn't blame me," but she was apparently still tongue-tied.

Lisa shook her head – just barely, in such a small gesture, and then turned and ran out of the dormitory.

Sypha cried into Solomon's fur.


End file.
